Full text of "Amazing Stories v18n05 1944 12 cape1736"

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INVASION OUST, . . Don Wilcox

DECEMBER

IN CAMAOA 304

VHDObtA GOAkDIAMS

By R AY BRAPBUtiY

WHEN INFECTION IS PRESENT

Get After the Germs

Me nf"A Buck were having an
argument abo}it them flakes and
sc/ies on my jumper. "Listen,"
says he, "I' m laying my month's
pay that if you'll take my ad-
vice, you'll get help—pronto!"

I took the bet.

"For ail the tea in China,"
Buck says, "yocfvt got infec-
tious dandruff— germs— lots
'em! And to fight bugs like
'bottle bacillus' you need anti-
septic action — and massage!".

Soon's we got out Listerine
Antiseptic, I went to wotk and
kept going! Buck was right.
Holy Smoke! Could I see an
improvement!

Listerine Antiseptic and mas-
sage really got after those flakes
and scales, eased up that itch-
ing. The old scalp and hair felt
like a million — looked swell!
Glad I lost that bet! Buck took
the dough and we made liberty
together. Good guy, Buck!

That's what Listerine Antiseptic does — kills millions
on scalp and hair.

Maybe that is why, in a series of tests where dandruff
Sufferers used Listerine Antiseptic twice a day, 76%
showed either marked improvement in, or complete
disappeatance of, the symptoms of dandruff in 30 days.

Just douse Listerine Antiseptic on and follow with
vigorous, finger-tip massage. See how those distressing
flakes and scales begin to disappear. Note how itching
is relieved. Observe how wonderfully fresh your hair
and scalp feel, smell and look.

This is the treatment that doesn't fool : : : that has
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VOLUME 18
NUMBER 5

STORIES

UNDERSEA GUARDIANS (Short— 5,400) . By Ray Bradbury 12

Illustrated by Arnold Kohn
Down in the sea a fantastic battle was going on between German subs and their living-dead victims.

THE MAN WHO HATED WAR

(Short— 2,200) By Emil Petaja 24

Illustrated by Julian $. Krupa
What better way to escape war than to travel through Time to an era when man will be more civilhed?

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

(Novelet— 25,000) By C. A. Baldwin 30

Illustrated by Julian S. Krupa
Given Hitler's fiendish talents, the Martians figured their kind of war weapons could not fail.

THE MAP OF FATE (Short— 2,800) By Cpl. Donald Bern. . . 72

illustrated by Brady

When a green pin was stuck info a Jap-held spot on this map, something very odd happened there . . .

A MOST INGENIOUS PARADOX

(Short— 2,000) By George Tashman . . 78

illustrated by Arnold Kohn
German soldiers are taught logic until tkey are invincible logicians. No problem baffles them . . .

THE LIFE MACHINE (Novelet— 13,000) By Lester Barclay .... 84

Illustrated by Robert Fuqua
Why was this machine to duplicate things always producing objects with a vital part lacking?

INVASION DUST (Short— 7,800) By Don Wilcox 108

Illustrated by Julian S. Krupa
He wore a strange machine over his heart; this man who leaped from a plane on a D-day mission . . .

THE ODYSSEY OF BATTLING BERT

(Short— 3,000) By Stanton A. Coblentz 124

Illustrated by Robert Fuqua & James 6. Settles
Oaf of nowhere came blasting deefh. Unless the source could be found, the Jap would destroy our navyl

THE WHIPS OF DOOM (Short— 5,700) By Helmar Lewis 132

Illustrated by J. Allen St. John
Atop a mountain a horrible sacrifice was carried out . . . and in Europe a man died with great honor.

TRUK ISLAND (Novelet— 26,700) By Berkeley Livingston . 144

Illustrated by Robert Fuqua
The Jap held Truk—but they didn't know what lay bene ath their fortified island ... in Lemurisl

Copyright 1944, ZIFF-DAVIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
Member of the Audit Bureau of Circulations
William B. Ziff, Publisher; B. G. Davii, Editor; Raymond A. Palmer, Managing Editor; Howard Browne, Assistant
Editor; Herman R. Bollln, Art Director: Malcolm Smith, Assistant Art Director; H. G. Strong, Circulation Director;
H. J. Morganroth, Production Director
We do not accept responsibility for the return of unsolicited manuscripts or artwork. To facilitate han-
dling the author should enclose a self-addressed envelope with the requisite postage attached, and ar-
tists'should enclose or forward return postage. Accepted material is subject to whatever revision is nec-
essary to meet requirements. Poyment covers all authors', contributors' and contestants' rights, title, and
interest in and to tha material acce'pted and will be made at our current rates upon acceptance. All
photos and drawings will be considered as part of material purchased. The names of all characters that
are used in short stories, serials and semi-fiction articles that deal with types are fictttious. Ute of a
name that is the same as that of any living person/is coincidental.

TABLE OF
CONTENTS

DECEMBER
1944

FEATURES

Front cover painting by James B. Settles, illus-
trating a scene from "Undersea Guardians." Back
cover painting by James 8. Settles depicting the
"Super Train of Tomorrow."

Twelve thousand years
ago the Lemurians and
Atlanteans disappeared
from the Earth. Where
and why did they go?

The startling, stunning
answer is published In
full in the neat Issue!
Amazing Stories has
found a man who says:

Richard S. Shaver

"I REMEMBER LEMURIA!"

Incredible you say? Don't bo too sure! Read n'rs
story of memories 12,000 years old. Of Mutan
Mien, the culture-man; of trie Atlans and Titans;
of the mother-tongue of all Languages! It's sensa-
tional— and it's true! On sale December 8. Set it!

THE OBSERVATORY By

CHEMISTRY— THE ENEMY OF DISEASE . By

THE WONDER BEAN By

VIGNETTES OF FAMOUS SCIENTISTS By

WHAT ARE OUR CHANCES FOR

LONGER LIFE? By

TOMORROWS WORLD By

AMAZING FACTS By

JUST PLAIN WIZARDRY By

LIFE? — OR VOLTAGE? By

THE SEARCH FOR POWER By

THE SPECTER OF SHINTOISM By

SCIENTIFIC MYSTERIES By

DISCUSSIONS By

SUPER TRAIN OF TOMORROW By

The Editor 6

Fran Miles 23

Ava Brown 29

Alexander Blade . 70

C. S. Rice 77

Harry S. Borden . 83

A. Morris 107

Arnold Young ... 122

B. R. Johnson 131

Anson Colman ... 143

Pete Bogg 189

L. Taylor Hansen . . 192

The Readers 196

Morris J. Steele 208

Published onarterlv by ZIFF-DAVIS PUBLISHING COMPANY at 540 North Michigan Avenue.
Chicago, 11, I1L New York Office. Empire Slit. Building. New York. 3. N. Y. Washington Office.
Kario Kuiiding. Was hingt on, 1. D- G, London editorial representative, A. Sueoser Allhcuy. ('hsinas
Cottage, Court Hoed, lefceobsm. lisnridge, Mldds., England. Entered as second class matter
June si. 194), at tho Post Office, Chicago, Illinois, under the act of March 3rd, 1879. Subscrip-
tion 12.60 for 12 issues; Canada 13.00; Foreign $3.50. Subscribers should allow at least two weeks
for change of address. All conununlcatlons about subscriptions should be addressed to the Director
of OrcuUtfoo, Ziff-Davis Publishing Company. 6*0 North Michigan Ave., Chicago, 11, liL

/"\UR last issue was a special one, entirely sol-
dier-written. It went over so welt with you
readers that we still have little tingles of gratifica-
tion running up and down our spines. So, casting
around anxiously for something to run this issue
to keep up the good work, we conceived the idea
of grouping all of our available "war" background
stories in a special "war-science-fiction" issue!
When we had grouped them all together, we found
ourselves staring with admiration at the contents
page copy. If there isn't some real class there,
we'll eat a copy of the issue in Times Square.

RUN your eyes down that list : Ray Bradbury ;
Don Wilcox; Emil Petaja; Stanton A. Cob-
lentz; Cpl. Donald Bern; Berkeley Livingston (to
mention the names of frequent and popular con-
tributors)— and Helmar Lewis; Lester Barclay; C.
A. Baldwin; George Tashman (to mention others
more or less new to our pages but certainly not
new to the writing game).

\17"E WON'T bore you with comments on their

* * stories this issue — we have more significant
things to talk about — but we will point out that
Cpl. Donald Bern wrote his "The Map Of Fate"
in New Guinea, with Jap bullets whistling around
his ears! And the story is authentic, because the
duties of the main character are also Donald
Bern's duties.

DROPHECY has always been a portion of this

* column; and now we have a little that might
be listed as the work of Calamity Jane, or of
Pae's raven, but we think it ought to be given a
little thought. You all know how tremendous a
weapon the flying rocket bomb is, and we scarcely
need point out that today it is in the same infant
stage that aviation was in the last war. Picture
for yourself this prophetic vision of the third
world war 1

GIANT rockets, weighing a hundred tons or
more, loaded with tremendously powerful ex-
plosives; others with horrible poison gases; still
more with terrifically potent incendiary substances.
Their range anywhere up to 5,000 miles. Their
accuracy so controlled that they can pinpoint a
target. Now picture yourself in Chicago. You are
the center of a circle 10,000 miles in diameter.
Prom anywhere in that circle you can be utterly

destroyed in a matter of hours by an attack whose
origination point you will be unable to determine,
because of the maneuverability of the rockets.
Science fiction, you say? No I This weapon is
now a reality. It has been invented ! It is still
an infant, but it will grow. There is only one an-
swer: we must make sure now that no factions
desiring world conquest are allowed the opportu-
nity to develop this weapon to the attacking point
—no matter where on this globe it may be! You,
the readers, are the heirs of Earth's future. You
know perhaps better than anyone else that the
picture we have painted is more than just fiction,
fantasy, imagination. It's going to be placed in
your hands ... so take a little time to think
about it seriously, and when there's something you
see that must be done about it — do it f

CO MUCH for the future. Now we come to
M something more intriguing to your editor, at
the moment, and, we predict, to you. No doubt
you've read our comments in past months about a
mysterious "true story of Lemuria"? And no
doubt you've seen by our contents page that this
story is scheduled for our next issue? So let's go
into the past for a few minutes.

COME nine months ago we published a letter in
^* Discussions concerning the alphabet of an an-
cient language, reputedly that of Lemuria. Mr.
Richard S. Shaver, who lives in Pennsylvania,
wrote us very seriously about it, and after we had
rather haphazardly tested it phonetically on a
number of root words, we decided to publish it to
get the readers' reactions to it. The result was a
bit startling. Not only did the alphabet work
when applied to root words in the English lan-
guage, it worked to an incredible degree in as
many as thirteen different languages! In fact, in
all languages tested. What did we have here?

A|R. SHAVER wrote us more letters, some of
them vastly disturbing to us because they
knocked some big holes in what we thought was
truth when we learned it in college. We couldn't
accept them, not because we didn't think they
didn't have rhyme or reason, but because we don't
accept things without checking them, and proving
them. As with the language, we made several
minor tests. The results? Well, we might just as
(Concluded on page 8)

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(Concluded from page 6)

well have gone fishing instead of to college I Now
we've got to start from the bottom and learn all
over again what makes the universe tick — insofar
as we (or science) know about it to start with.

SOME weeks later Mr. Shaver sent us the manu-
script you will read in our March issue.

'T V HAT, readers, is a paragraph in itself ! When
you have read the story "I Remember Lemu-
ria!" youH say so too. Frankly, the manuscript
as you will read it is not the manuscript originally
submitted. It is a re-write resulting from more
than one million words of further correspondence
with Mr. Shaver; months of intense work on re-
search; many painful hours of checking details, of
digging out corroborative footnote material.

A T OUR suggestion Mr. Shaver began the com-
** pilation of words in the English language
which have come down over 12,000 years from the
mother tongue of Lemuria (or to give it its name,
Mantoog — meaning the language of man). On our
desk at the present moment is a first draft of a
dictionary of these numbering perhaps 400 words.
We will publish a condensation of this dictionary
in connection with the story "I Remember Lemu-
ria" in order to give our readers a better key to
the fundamentals of the language than was pos-
sible by the skimpy, meagre, incomplete alpha-
betical definitions we originally published. By us-
ing this new key, we hope that many of our read-
ers will conduct further research into root words,
including in the scope of research languages other
than English, and thereby add to the dictionary's
total volume. We have a definite feeling that vast
possibilities for uncovering many of the mysteries
of the past, and of lost sciences, exists in further
research into this incredible mother tongue of all
Earth languages.

WHEN you read "I Remember Lemuria" you
will also find outlined in very brief form a
new {or we should say, old) theory of gravity; a
new concept of matter; and a new foundation
for physical mathematics. Needless to say, you
will not read a great deal about it, because some
exhaustive work is being done along constructive
and serious lines entirely apart from the interest
of Amazing Stokies and its readers, whose desire
first and foremost is to provide and indulge in
entertainment. What you ■will get from this story,
and others to follow even more ambitious in
scope, i3 the most magnificent entertainment you
have ever enjoyed in our pages! Apart from the

amazing factors surrounding Mr. Shaver and his
manuscripts, he is a writer of intensely vital abil-
ity. He has written his story with a very con-
scious effort to be entertaining. He has inter-
larded his memories with enough fiction to make
for absorbing reading—and at the same time, he
has not, by any detail, destroyed the accuracy of
the picture of the past he is portraying. That is
the one thing we have discovered in long months
of correspondence— Mr. Shaver is sincere, he has
no interest more vital than to convey the truth
that lies within his mind and his incredible mem-
ory (or whatever it is) concerning the vast mys-
tery oi Lemuria t

TpHE March, 194S issue of Amazing Storks
containing "I Remember Lemuria" is scheduled
to go on sale on December 8. Don't miss it! And
if you want to make sure you get a copy, reserve
it now; or better still, reserve one with our sub-
scription department. Each issue, until further
notice, will carry one of Mr. Shaver'3 incredible
manuscripts. You'd be smart to subscribe, what
with paper conditions what they are.

1X7ILLIAM P. McGIVERN writes from England

* * where he is stationed, "You will be getting a
manuscript from me one of these days; liquor
here is sold at an ungodly price, far beyond the
pay of a lowly sergeant." Which is certainly typi-
cal of the big lad! When he gets back we'll buy
him the best bottle of scotch in townl

VTOUR editor has a brother in the service (8

* years in the army infantry !) who has the same
trouble. His last letter, written from France, said
simply that he'd "beard there was still some good
liquor in Paris, and he was getting damned thir-
sty." It seems to be true that the general attitude
of the American soldier these days is "let's finish
this thing now, and go home!" Such spirit as
this accounts for the headaches the Germans and
Japs are experiencing these days,

THOSE secret weapons which have been no se-
cret in Amazing Stories for IS years, are be-
ginning to pop up as this war draws to its end.
The Japs were recently treated to one, or two if
you want to count the B-29; and the Germans
have certainly brought one up with the rocket
bomb. We're seriously thinking of a kind of fic-
tion to take the place of Amazing's "science fic-
tin," which is now becoming anything but amaz-
ing!

TF YOU are wondering what became of the sequel

* to "The Vengeance Of Martin Brand" we have
shelved it in favor of the sensational Shaver
manuscript. But we assure you we won't shelve
it for long.

T T SURE will be swell when we can have all the

* paper we want again, won't it? We've got so
many fine stories waiting to see print that we're
beginning to see 'em stacked in our dreams! Rap

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AMAZING STORIES

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Undersea
Guardians

By RAY BRADBURY

THE ocean slept quietly. There
was little movement in its deep
green silence. Along the floor
of a watery valley some bright flecks
of orange color swam: tiny arrow-
shaped fish. A shark prowled by, gap-
ing its mouth. An octopus reached up
lazily with a tentacle, wiggled it at
nothing, and settled back dark and
quiet.

Fish swam in and around the rust-
ing, torn hulk of a submerged cargo
ship, in and out of gaping holes and
ripped ports. The legend on the prow
said: u. s. s. Atlantic.

It was quite soundless. The water
formed around the ship like green gela-
tin.

ALL of us have a pur-
pose in life; among us are
those whose duty is to act
as guardians for those who
have a mission to perform

"She's God i*vb ut— sfo's living!"

AMAZING STORIES

And then Conda came, with his re-
cruits.

They were swimming like dream-
motes through the wide dark-watered
valleys of the ocean; Conda at the head
of the school with his red shock of
hair flurried upright in a current, and
his red bush beard trailed down over
the massive rib of his chest. He put
out his great arms, clutched water,
pulled back, and his long body shot
ahead.

The others imitated Conda, and it
was very quietly done. The ripple
of white arms, cupped hands, the glim-
mer of quick moving feet, was like the
movement of motion pictures from
which the sound-track has been cut.
Just deep water silence and the mute
moves of Conda and his swarm.

Alita came close at his kicking heels.
She swam with her sea-green eyes wide-
fixed and her dark hair spilling back
over her naked body. Her mouth
twisted with some sort of agony to
which she could give no words.

Alita felt someone moving at her
side. Another, smaller, woman, very
thin in her nakedness, with gray hair
and a shriveled husk of face that held
nothing but weariness. She swam too,
and would keep on swimming.

And then there was Helene, flashing
by over their heads like an instantan-
eous charge of lightning. Helene with
her hot angry eyes and her long plati-
num hair and her strange laughter.

"How much longer, Conda?" The
old woman's thought reached through
the waters, touching the brains of them
all as they swam. •

"An hour. Perhaps only forty min-
utes 1" came Conda's blunt retort. It
had the depth of fathoms in it; dark
like the tides in the sunken water lands.

"Watch out!" somebody cried.

Down through the green waters over-
head something tumbled. A shadow

crossed the ocean surface, quick, like
a gigantic sea-gull.

"Depth-charge!" shouted Conda.
"Get away from it!"

Like so many frightened fish the
twenty of them scattered instantly, with
a flurry of legs, a spreading of arms,
a diving of heads.

HpHE depth-charge ripped water into
gouts and shreds, spread terrific
vibrations dowfl to kick the sandy bot-
tom, up to ram the surface like a gey-
ser!

Alita screamed to herself as she sank,
stunned, to the sea-floor, a queer strange
pain going through her limbs. If only
this were over, if only the real death
came. If only it were over.

A shivering went through her. Quite
suddenly the water was icy cold, and
she was alone in the green emptiness.
So very alone. Alone, staring at a dark
ring on her left hand.

"Richard, I want to see you again
so very much. Oh, Richard, if we
could only be together."

"Daughter." The gentle thought
husked at her as the old woman glided
up, white hair misting around her
wrinkled face. "Don't. Don't think.
Come along. There's work. Work to
be done. Much of it. Work for you
and me and the ships on the surface,
and for — for Richard."

Alita didn't move. "I don't want
to swim. I'd rather just sit here on
the sand and . . . wait."

"You know you can't do that." The
old woman touched her. "You'd be
all the unhappier. You have a reason
to swim or you wouldn't be swimming.
Come along. We're almost there! "

The effects of the depth-charge,
dropped from a low-flying airplane, had
dispersed. Mud-streaks boiled up fog-
ging the water, and there were a mil-
lion air bubbles dancing toward the

UNDERSEA GUARDIANS

outer world like laughing diamonds.
Alita let the old woman take her hand
and tug her up from the sand floor.
Together they progressed toward Con-
da, who was the nucleus of a growing
congregation.

"Submarine!" somebody thought, in
a tense whisper. "Over that crop of
coral ahead. That's why the airplane
dropped the depth-charge!"

"What kind of submarine?" some-
one else asked.

"German," said Conda grimly. His
red beard wavered in the water and his
red-rimmed eyes stared out with iron
fury. Helene flicked by them all, swift-
ly, laughing. "A German submarine
lying on the bottom, sleeping quietly —
waiting for the convoy!"

Their minds swirled at the words of
Conda, like so many warm-cold cur-
rents intermixing with fear and appre-
hension.

"And the convoy will pass this spot
in how long?"

"Half an hour at most, now."

"Then there isn't much time, is
there?"

"Not much."

"Isn't it dangerous for us to be near
it? What if the airplane returns with
more depth-charges?"

Conda growled. "This is the limit
to the plane range. That plane won't
be back. He's out of bombs and out of
gas. It's our job now. And what of
it? You afraid?"

Silence.

T^HE ring of faces looked to Conda
for the plan, Alita among them;
fourteen men, six women. Men with
beards grown out four, five months;
hair long and unshorn about their ears.
Pallid watery faces with determined
bone under the skin, set jaws and tight-
ened fists. All gathered like fragments
of some oceanic nightmare. The pallid

undead, breathing water, and thinking
mute thoughts about the stormy night
when the u. s. s. Atlantic had been
torpedoed and sent to the bottom, with
all of them trapped, screaming, inside
her.

"We never had our chance," said
Conda, grimly, "to get where we were
going to do what we had to do. But
we'll go on doing it until the war's over
because that's all that's worth while
doing. I don't know how we live or
what makes us live except the will to
fight, the will to vengeance, wanting to
win— not wanting to lie on he coral
shelves like so much meat for the
sharks "

Alita listened and shuddered. Why
was she still alive and swimming forty
fathoms under?

And then she knew. It was like
sudden flame in her. She lived because
she loved Richard Jameson. She lived
simply because his ship might pass this
way some day soon again, like it had
three weeks ago, returning from Eng-
land. And she might see him leaning
on the rail, smoking his pipe and try-
ing to smile, still alive.

She lived for that. She lived to keep
him safe on every trip. Like the others,
she had a purpose, a hot, constricting,
unquenchable purpose to prevent more
victims from coming down to join her
in the same nightmare fashion as the
v. s. s. Atlantic. She guessed that ex-
plained everything. There was good
reason for her still to be moving, and
somehow God had motivated them all
in the green sea-weed plateaus and
gullies.

"Now," came Conda's heavy thought,
"we've this German submarine to con-
sider. We have to knock it out of ac-
tion completely. We can't have it lying

here when the convoy comes. Alita
»

Alita jerked. She came out of her

AMAZING STORIES

thoughts, and her pale lips moved.
"Yes?"

"You know what to do, Alita? And
. . . Helene?"

Helene drifted down dreamily, laugh-
ing in answer, and opening white fin-
gers to clench them tight.

"It's up to you, Alita and Helene.
The rest of us will deploy around the
submarine. Jones, you and Merrith try
to jam the torpedo openings somehow.
Acton, you work on the induction
valves. Simpson, see what you can do
to the guns on deck; and Haines, you
and the other men try your damnedest
with the periscope and conning tower."

"Yes, sir."

"Good enough, sir."

"If we do it, this'll be the sixth sub
for us "

"// we do it," said Conda.

"Alita'll do it for us, won't you,
Alita?"

"What? Oh, yes. Yesl I'll do it."
She tried to smile.

"All right then." Conda swung about.
"Spread out and go in toward the sub-
marine under a smoke-screen. De-
ploy 1"

CILENTLY the congregation split
into twos and threes and swam
toward the coral shelf, around it, then
sank to the bottom, scooped up great
handfuls of mud and darkened the
water with it. Alita followed, cold,
tired, unhappy.

The submarine squatted on the bot-
tom like a metal shark, dark and wary
and not making a sound. Sea-weed
waved drowsy fronds around it, and
several curious blue-fish eyed it and
fluttered past. Sunshine slanted down
through water, touching the gray bulk,
making it look prehistoric, primeval.

A veil of mud sprang up as the cor-
don of Conda's people closed in around
the U-boat. Through this veil their

pasty white bodies twisted, naked and
quick.

Alita's heart spasmed its cold grave-
flesh inside her. It beat salt water
through her arteries, it beat agony
through her veins. There, just a few
feet from her through the mud-veil, lay
an iron-womb, and inside it grown-up
children stirred, living. And out here
in the cold deeps nothing lived but the
fish.

Conda and Alita and the others
didn't count.

The submarine, a metal womb, nur-
turing those men, keeping the choking,
hungry waters from them. What a
difference a few inches of metal made
between pink flesh and her own white
flesh, between living and not living, be-
tween laughing and crying. All of that
air inside the submarine. What would
it be like to gasp it in again, like the
old days just a few scant weeks ago.
What would it be like to suck it in and
mouth it out with talked words on it?
To talk again!

Alita grimaced. She kicked her legs.
Plunging to the U-boat, she beat her
fists against it, screaming, "Let me inl
Let me in! I'm out here and I want to
live ! I want to live ! Let me in ! "

"Alita!" The old woman's voice
cried in her mind. A shadow drew
across her lined face, softening it. "No,
no, my child, do not think of it ! Think
only of what must be done!"

Alita's handsome face was ugly with
torture.

"Just one breath! Just one song!"

"Time shortens, Alita. And the con-
voy comes! The submarine must be
smashed — nowl"

"Yes," said Alita wearily. "Yes. I
must think of Richard— if he should

happen to be in this next convoy "

Her dark hair surged in her face. She
brushed it back with white fingers and
stopped thinking about living again. It

UNDERSEA GUARDIANS

was needless torture.

She heard Helene's laughter from
somewhere. It made her shiver. She
saw Helene's nude body flash by above
her like a silver fish, magnificent and
graceful as a wind-borne thistle. Her
laughter swam with her. "Open the
U-boat up! Open it up and let them
out and I'll make love to a German
boy!"

'yHERE were lights in the subma-
rine. Dim lights. Alita pressed
her pale face against the port and stared
into a crew's quarters. Two German
men lay on small bunks, looking at the
iron ceiling, doing nothing. After a
while one puckered his lips, whistled,
and rolled out of the bunk to disappear
through a small iron door. Alita nodded.
This was the way she wanted it. The
other man was very young and very
nervous, his eyes were erratic in a
tired face, and his hair was corn-yel-
low and clipped tight to his head. He
twisted his hands together, again and
again, and a muscle in his cheek kept
jerking.

Light and life, a matter of inches
away. Alita felt the cold press of the
ocean all around her, the beckoning
urge of the cold swells. Oh, just to
be inside, living and talking like them

She raised her tiny fist, the one with
Richard's thick ring on it, from An-
napolis, and struck at the port. She
struck four times.

No effect.

She tried again, and knew that
Helene would be doing the same on the
opposite side of the sub.

The Annapolis ring clicked against
thick port glass.

Jerking, the German lad pulled his
head up half an inch and stared at the
port, and looked away again, went back
to twisting his fingers and wetting his

lips with his tongue.

"I'm out here!" Alita struck again
and again. "Listen to me! Listen!
I'm out here!"

The German sat up so violently he
cracked his head against metal. Hold-
ing his forehead with one hand he
slipped out of the bunk and stepped
to the port.

He squinted out, cupping hands over
eyes to see better.

Alita smiled. She didn't feel like
smiling, but she smiled. Sunlight sprang
down upon her dark smoke-spirals of
hair dancing on the water. Sunlight
stroked her naked white body. She
beckoned with her hands, laughing.

For one unbelieving, stricken instant,
it was as if hands strangled the Ger-
man lad. His eyes grew out from his
face like unhealthy gray things. His
mouth stopped retching and froze.
Something crumbled inside him. It
seemed to be the one last thing to strike
his mind once and for all insane.

One moment there, the next he was
gone. Alita watched him fling himself
back from the port, screaming words
she couldn't hear. Her heart pounded.
He fought to the door, staggering out.
She swam to the next port in time to
see him shout into the midst of a sweat-
ing trio of mechanics. He stopped,
swayed, swallowed, pointed back to
the bunk room, and while the others
turned to stare in the designated di-
rection, the young German ran on, his
mouth wide, to the entrance rungs of
the conning tower.

Alita knew what he was yelling. She
spoke little German; she heard noth-
ing; but faintly the waves of his mind
impinged on hers, a screaming insanity :

"God! Oh God! She's outside. And
she is swimming! And alive!"

'"JTHE sub captain saw him coming.
He dragged out a revolver and fired,

AMAZING STORIES

point-blank. The shot missed and the
two grappled.

"God! Oh God! I can't stand it
longer! Months of sleeping under the
sea! Let me out of this god-damned
nightmare! Let me out!"

"Stop! Stop it, Schmidt! Stop!"

The captain fell under a blow. The
younger man wrested the gun from
him, shot him three times. Then he
jumped up the rungs to the conning
tower, and twisted at mechanisms.

Alita warned the others. "Be ready!
One is coming out! He's coming out!
He's opening the inner door!"

Instantly, breathlessly, passionately,
Helene's voice rang: "To hell with the
inner door! It's the outer door we
want open!"

"God in heaven, let me out! I can't
stay below!"

"Stop hiral"

The crew scrambled. Ringing down,
the inner door peeled open. Three Ger-
manic faces betrayed the biting fear in
their bellies. They grabbed instruments
and threw them at Schmidt's vanishing
legs jumping up the rungs!

Conda's voice clashed like a thrust
gong in the deep sunlit waters. "Ready,
everyone? If he gets the outer door
open, we must force in to stop the
others from ever closing itl"

Helene laughed her knifing laugh-
ter. "I'm ready!"

The submarine stirred and rolled to
a strange gurgling sound. Young
Schmidt was babbling and crying. To
Alita, he was now out of sight. The
other men were pouring pistol shots up
into the conning tower where he'd van-
ished, to no effect. They climbed after
him, shouting.

A gout of water hammered down,
crushed them!

"it's open!" Helene exulted. "It's
open! The outer seal is free!"

"Don't let them slam it again!"

roared Conda. White bodies shot by,
flashing green in the sunlight. Thoughts
darkened, veiling like unsettled mud.

Inside the machine-room, the crew
staggered in a sloshing, belching night-
mare of thrusting water. There was
churning and thrashing and shaking
like the interior of a gigantic washing
machine. Two or three crew-men
struggled up the rungs to the inner lock
and beat at the closing mechanism.

"I'm inside!" Helene's voice was
high, excited. "I've got him — the Ger-
man boy! Oh, this is a new kind of
love, this is!"

There was a terrific mental scream
from the German, and then silence. A
moment later his dangling legs ap-
peared half in, half out the lock as the
door started to seal! Now it couldn't
seal. Yanking desperately, the crew
beneath tried to free him of the lock,
but Helene laughed dimly and said,
"Oh, no, I've got him and I'm keeping
him here where he'll do the most good!
He's mine. Very much mine. You
can't have him back!"

Water thundered, spewed. The Ger-
mans floundered. Schmidt's limbs kick-
ed wildly, with no life, in the steadily
descending torrent. Something hap-
pened to release him. The lock rapped
open and he fell face down into the
rising waters.

Something came with him. Some-
thing white and quick and naked.
Helene.

^LITA watched in a numbed sort of
feeling that was too weary to be
horror.

She watched until there were three
Germans left, swimming about, keeping
their heads over water, yelling to God
to save them. And Helene was in
among them, invisible and stroking and
moving quickly. Her white hands
flickered up, grasped one officer by the

UNDERSEA GUARDIANS

shoulders and pulled him steadily un-
der.

"This is a different kind of love!
Make love to mel Make love! Don't
you like my cold lips?"

Alita swam off, shuddering, away
from the fury and yelling and corrup-
tion. The submarine was dying, shak-
ing its prehistoric bulk with metal
agony. In another moment it would
be drowned and the job done. Silence
would come down again and sunlight
would strike on the dead, quiet U-boat
and another attack would be success-
ful.

Sobbing, Alita swam up toward the
sun in the green silence. It was late
afternoon, and the water became warm-
er as she neared the surface. Late
afternoon. Back in Forest Hills they'd
be playing tennis now on the hot courts,
drinking cool cocktails, talking about
dancing tonight at the Indigo Club.
Back in Forest Hills they'd be decid-
ing what formal to wear tonight to that
dance, what show to see. Oh, that was
so long ago in the sanity of living, in
the time before torpedoes crushed the
hull of the u. s. s. Atlantic and took
her down.

Richard, where are you now? Will
you be here in a few minutes, Richard,
with the convoy? Will you be think-
ing of us and the day we kissed goodbye
in New York at the harbor, when I
was on my way to nursing service in
London? Will you remember how we
kissed and held tight, and how you
never saw me again?

I saw you, Richard. Three weeks
ago. When you passed by on Destroy-
er 242, oblivious to me floating a few
feet under the water!

If only we could be together. But
I wouldn't want you to be like this,
white and sodden and not alive. I want
to keep you from all this, darling. And
I shall. That's why I stay moving, I

guess. Because I know I can help
keep you living. We just killed a sub-
marine, Richard. It won't have a
chance to harm you. You'll have a
chance to go to Britain, to do the things
we wanted to do together.

There was a gentle movement in the
water, and the old woman was at her
side.

Alita's white shoulders jerked. "It
— it was awful."

The old woman looked at the sun
caught in the liquid. "It always is—
this kind of death. It always has been
— always will be as long as men are at
war. We had to do it. We didn't take
lives, we saved lives — hundreds of
them."

Alita closed her eyes and opened
them again. "I've been wondering
about us. Why is it that just you and
I and Conda and Helene and a few
others survived the sinking Why
didn't some of the hundreds of others
join us? What are we?"

The old woman moved her feet slow-
ly, rippling currents.

"We're Guardians, that's what you'd
call us. A thousand people drowned
when the Atlantic went down, but
twenty of us came out, half-dead, be-
cause we have somebody to guard. You
have a lover on the convoy routes. I
have four sons in the Navy. The others
have similar obligations. Conda has
sons too. And Helene — well, her lover
was drowned inside the Atlantic and
never came half-alive like us, so she's
vindictive, motivated by a great ven-
geance. She can't ever really be killed.

"We all have a stake in the convoys
that cross and recross the ocean. We're
not the only ones. Maybe there are
thousands of others who cannot and
wii! not rest between here and Eng-
land, breaking seams in German cargo
boats, darkening Nazi periscopes and
frightening German crewmen, sinking

AMAZINS STORIES

their gun-boats when the chance comes.

"But we're all the same. Our love for
our husbands and sons and daughters
and fathers makes us go on when we
should be meat for fish, makes us go
on being Guardians of the Convoy,
gives us the ability to swim faster than
any human ever swam while living, as
fast as any fish ever swam. Invisible
guardians nobody'll ever know about
or appreciate. Our urge to do our bit
was so great we wouldn't let dying put
us out of action. . . ."

"I'm so tired, though," said Alita.
"So very tired."

"When the war is over — we'll rest.
In the meanwhile — — "

"The convoy is coming!"

TT WAS Conda's deep, voice of au-
thority. Used to giving captain's
orders for years aboard the Atlantic,
he appeared below them now, about a
hundred yards away, striving up in the
watered sunlight, his red hair aflame
around his big-nosed, thick-lipped face.
His beard was like so many living ten-
tacles, writhing.
The convoy!

The Guardians stopped whatever
they were doing and hung suspended
like insects in some green primordial
amber, listening to the deeps.

From far, far off it came: the voice
of the convoy. First a dim note, a lazy
drifting of sound, like trumpets blown
into eternity and lost in the wind. A
dim vibration of propellers beating
water, a bulking of much weight on the
sun-sparkled Atlantic tides.

The convoy!

Destroyers, cruisers, corvettes, and
cargo ships. The great bulking con-
voy!

Richard! Richard 1 Are you with
them? ,

Alita breathed water in her nostrils,
down her throat, in her lungs. She

hung like a pearl against a green velvet
gown that rose and fell under the
breathing of the sea.
Richard!

The echo of ships became more than
a suggestion. The water began to hum
and dance and tremble with the ad-
vancing armada. Bearing munitions
and food and planes, bearing hopes and
prayers and people, the convoy churned
for England.

Richard Jameson!

The ships would come by like so
many heavy blue shadows over their
heads and pass on and be lost soon
in the night-time, and tomorrow there
would be another and another stream
of them.

Alita would swim with them for a
way. Until she was tired of swimming,
perhaps, and then she'd drop down,
come floating back here to this spot
on a deep water tide she knew and uti-
lized for the purpose.

Now, excitedly, she shot upward.

She went as near to the surface as
she could, hearing Conda's thunder-
voice giving commands:

"Spread out! One of you to each
major ship! Report any hostile ac-
tivity to me instantly! We'll trail with
them until after sunset! Spread!"

The others obeyed, rising to position,
ready. Not near enough to the surface
so the sun could get at their flesh.

They waited. The hammer-hammer
churn-churn of ships folded and grew
upon itself. The sea brimmed with
its bellow going down to kick the sand
and striking up in reflected quivers of
sound. Hammer-hammer-churnl

Richard Jameson!

Alita dared raise her head above
water. The sun hit her like a dull ham-
mer. Her eyes flicked, searching, and
as she sank down again she cried,
"Richard. It's his ship. The first de-
stroyer. I recognize the number. He's

UNDERSEA GUARDIANS

here again!"

"Alita, please," cautioned the old
woman. "Control yourself. My boy,
too. He's on one of the cargo ships. I
know its propeller voice well. I recog-
nize the sound. One of my boys is
here, near me. And it feels so very
good."

The whole score of them swam to
meet the convoy. Only Helene stayed
behind. Swimming around and around
the German U-boat, swimming swiftly
and laughing her strange high laughter
that wasn't sane.

Alita felt something like elation ris-
ing in her. It was good, just to be this
close to Richard, even if she couldn't
speak or show herself or kiss him ever
again. She'd watch him every time he
came by this way. Perhaps she'd swim
all night, now, and part of the next day,
until she couldn't keep up with him any
longer, and then she'd whisper goodbye
and let him sail on alone.

'"J^HE destroyer cut close to her. She
saw its number on the prow in the
sun. And the sea sprang aside as the
destroyer cut it like a glittering knife.

There was a moment of exhilaration,
and then Conda shouted it deep and
loud and excited:

"SUBMARINE!"

"Submarine coming from north, cut-
ting across convoy! German!"
Richard!

Alita's body twisted fearfully as she
heard the under-water vibration that
meant a submarine was coming in to-
ward them, fast. A dark long shadow
pulsed underwater.

There was nothing you could do to
stop a moving submarine, unless you
were lucky. You could try stopping
it by jamming its propellers, but there
wasn't time for that.

Conda yelled, "Close in on the sub!
Try to stop it somehow! Block the

periscope. Do anything!"

But the German U-boat gnashed in
like a mercurial monster. In three
breaths it was lined up with the convoy,
unseen, and squaring off to release its
torpedoes.

Down below, like some dim-moving
fantasy, Helene swam in eccentric cir-
cles, but as the sub shadow trailed over
her she snapped her face up, her hot
eyes pulled wide and she launched her-
self with terrific energy up at it, her
face blazing with fury!

The ships of the convoy moved on,
all unaware of the poisoned waters they
churned. Their great valvular hearts
pounding, their screws thrashing a wild
water song.

"Conda, do something! Conda!"
Alita shivered as her mind thrust the
thoughts out at the red-bearded giant.
Conda moved like a magnificent shark
up toward the propellers of the U-boat,
swift and angry.

Squirting, bubbling, jolting, the sub
expelled a child of force, a streamlined
torpedo that kicked out of its metal
womb, trailed by a second, launched
with terrific impetus — at the destroyer.

Alita kicked with her feet. She
grasped at the veils of water with help-
less fingers, blew all the water from her
lungs in a stifled scream.

Things happened swiftly. She had
to swim at incredible speed just to keep
pace with submarine and convoy. And
— spinning a bubbled trail of web — the
torpedoes coursed at the destroyer as
Alita swam her frantic way.

"It missed 1 Both torps missed!"
someone cried; it sounded like the old
woman.

Oh, Richard, Richard, don't you
know the sub is near you Don't let it
bring you down to . . . this, Richard!
Drop the depth charges! Drop them
now!

Nothing.

AMAZING STORIES

Conda clung to the conning tower of
the U-boat, cursing with elemental
rage, striving uselessly.

Two more torpedoes issued from the
mouths of the sub and went surging on
their trajectories. Maybe

"Missed again 1 "

Alita was gaining. Gaining. Get-
ting closer to the destroyer. If only
she could leap from the waters, shout-
ing. If only she were something else
but this dead white flesh. . . .

Another torpedo. The last one, prob-
ably, in the sub.

It was going to hit!

Alita knew that before she'd taken
three strokes more. She swam exactly
alongside the destroyer now, the sub-
marine was many many yards ahead
when it let loose its last explosive. She
saw it come, shining like some new kind
of fish, and she knew the range was
correct this time.

In an instant she knew what there
was to be done. In an instant she knew
the whole purpose and destiny of her
swimming and being only half-dead. It
meant the end of swimming forever,
now, the end of thinking about Richard
and never having him for herself ever
again. It meant

She kicked her heels in the face of
water, stroked ahead clean, quick. The
torpedo came directly at her with its
blunt, ugly nose.

Alita coasted, spread her arms wide,
waited to embrace it, take it to her
breast like a long-lost lover.

She shouted it in her mind:

"Helenel Helenel From now on —
from now on — take care of Richard
for me! Watch over him for me!
Take care of Richard 1"

"Submarine off starboard!"

"Ready depth-charges!"

"Torpedo traces! Four of them!
Missed us!"

"Here comes another one! They've

got our range this time, Jameson!
Watch it!"

To the men on the bridge it was the
last moment before hell. Richard
Jameson stood there with his teeth
clenched, yelling, "Hard over!" but it
was no use; that torp was coming on,
not caring, not looking where it was
going. It would hit them amidship!
Jameson's face went white all over and
he breathed something under his breath
and clutched the rail.

The torpedo never reached the de-
stroyer.

It exploded about one hundred feet
from the destroyer's hull. Jameson fell
to the deck, swearing. He waited. He
staggered up moments later, helped by
his junior officer.

"That was a close one, sir I"

"What happened?"

"That torp had our range, sir. But
they must have put a faulty mechanism
in her. She exploded short of her goal.
Struck a submerged log or something."

Jameson stood there with salt spray-
ing his face. "I thought I saw some-
thing just before the explosion. It
looked like a . . . log. Yeah. That
was it. A log."

"Lucky for us, eh, sir?"

"Yeah. Damn lucky."

"Depth-charge! Toss 'em!"

Depth-charges were dropped. Mo-
ments later a subwater explosion tore
up the water. Oil bubbled up to color
the waves, with bits of wreckage mixed
in it.

"We got the sub," someone said.

" Yeah . And the sub almostgotus!"

The destroyer ran in the wave chan-
nels, in the free wind, under a darken-
ing sky.

"Full speed ahead!"

The ocean slept quiet as the convoy
moved on in the twilight. There was
little movement in its deep green si-
lence. Except for some things that

UNDERSEA GUARDIANS

may have been a swarm of silver fish
gathered below, just under the waters
where the convoy had passed; pale
things, stirring, flashing a flash of

white, and swimming off silently,
strangely, into the deep green sound-
lessness of the undersea valleys. . . .
The ocean slept again.

CHEMI
THE ENEMY

AT THE very moment that I sit here and
write this article, there are probably many
■■ breath-taking discoveries in the making
throughout the carious chemical research labora-
tories ali over the world. Chemistry is definitely
on the march. This phase of science has been
applied and found of practical value in almost all
the industries known to man. If you think this
statement is rather broad, just look about you
and try to find an object which does not owe
some debt of gratitude to chemistry. The paper
I write on, the ink that flows through my plastic
pen — all owe their development to the powers of
chemistry. Why, it is said that the industrial
significance of a country can readily be determined
by the amount of sulfuric acid that country uses
every year.

Recently, chemistry has given to the medical
profession new weapons with which to fight off
diseases. Take for example the sulfa-drugs, who
could have visualized years ago that a doctor
would have at his disposal, in the most convenient
form to administer, a single chemical capable of
playing havoc with such a variety of pathogenic
"cocci" strains? In many cases of blood poisoning,
puerperal fever, erysipelas, meningitis, infection of
the heart, pneumonia, gonorrhea, certain kidney in-
fections, and others — the sulfa-drugs have been
tried and proved to be remarkably successful in
curing or easing the infection.

The chemists have not been content to rest amid
the praises and accomplishments of their new dis-
covery. They realized that the sulfa-drugs were
just a beginning of t he battle to annihilate all
the diseases and ailments which have troubled
man since his origin. Some chemists began to
perfect the sulfa-drugs, for while the early sul-
fanilamide did have powerful germ killing powers,
it also possessed some undesirable properties. In
many cases those patients on whom sulfanilamide
was used suffered severely from the body reactions
caused by the drug. One of the first things these
chemists had to do was to discover the structural
plan of that part of the sulfanilamide molecule
actually responsible for the germ killing effect.
Once they had obtained such a structural plan,
it then became possible to attack additional chem-
ical combinations onto the active nucleus. By re-
placing one of the unnecessary hydrogen atoms for
new chemical groups an entire series of effective,

STRY-
OF DISEASE

and yet less irritating, sulfa-drugs were made
available to the public. Examples of these are:
sulfa- pyridine, sulfathiazole, sulfadiazine, sulfa -
quanidine, and an ever increasing number of
others. Each new sulfa-drugs is designed to keep
its bacteria-static reaction and at the same time
exhibit certain properties which will make it more
pleasant and adapt at the job it must do. Sulfa-
quanidine proved to be less completely absorbed
by the body and was therefore employed as a
therapeutic agent in the treatment of gastro-in-
testinal infections.

Very recently a new phase of chemotherapy
{treatment of disease by means of chemicals) came
into existence. It all started when Dubos isolated
a certain bacillus from the soil, which is capable
of producing a soluble substance proved to be
effective against the gram-positive bacteria. This
soon led to the discovery of gramicidin— a chemical
agent which is so potent that only 0.002 mg. is
enough to protect a mouse against 10,000 fatal
doses of the pneumonia germs.

Even the mold has not escaped the ever search-
ing members of the chemical profession. First it
was Penicillin Notatum that took the "lime-light."
This mold was found to yield a soluble extract
which strangely inhibits the growth of gram-posi-
tive cocci and bacilli. Surely the readers will
remember the various stories about penicillin in
the newspapers. In one case a girl was dying
from a rare type of blood disease and her physi-
cians were attempting to obtain penicillin with
which to cure her. At that time the country had
only a limited supply of the drug and of course
the armed forces were given the priority. How-
ever, it will not be long before the entire civilized
world will be given the chance to use this drug
when the need exists. Surely after the war a
process of turning out penicillin in mass quantities
will be worked out — that is if such a process does
not already exist. Other molds are being in-
vestigated and the results are very encouraging.
Yes, chemistry is definitely on the march and all
it asks for is a chance to utilize its knowledge for
the betterment of our world. Let us hope that it
can be put on the full time job of helping human-
ity—after we have used its powers to aid in the
defeat of an enemy who would plunge this world
into another dark and pestilent-ridden "Middle-
Ages."— Fran Miles,

THE MAIM WHO
HATED WAR

BY EMIL PETAJA

FOSTER hdted war enongh to risk his life
in an attempt to cross Time and escape it*
horrors; surely future men would learn peace!

IT SEEMED to Doctor Myles Fos-
ter that a million cold needles
pinned him down. Even his eye-
lids, when he was able to force them
open, felt to have been caked with
glacial ice.

His mind worked sluggishly, striving
painfully to accept and assimilate visual
images.

He saw, without moving, that he lay
on a flat table, covered with soft blan-
kets. The room was small, white-
walled, and windowless. But the rich
light around him might have been
mountain sunlight.

Now the well-textured face of an old
man hung over him. It was whisked
away, and through the corner of his eye
he saw deft slender hands doing things
above a nearby table.

"I'm cold," Doctor Foster said, like a
child.

"Of course," a voice that matched the
ancient face soothed.

Things were being done to help this.
Heat poured over him; his arms and
legs were massaged vigorously; a spoon-
ful of clear liquid was forced between
his clenched teeth. It shot tacit threads
of radiance through his frosted tissue,
down to his toenails.

"Ahhhh," he sighed, gratefully.

The wrinkled face above him smiled,
but its eyes were sad.

Doctor Foster stopped trying to
think. He was content to lie still and
be fed more spoonfuls of the magical
liquid.

And to sleep.

To dream . . .

An incoherent jumble of thoughts be-
gan to clash, one against the other in
his mind, like dueling blades.

Long rows of figures. Ponderous
words. Chemical formulas. A chubby
familiar face. A mirrored thing that
swung and dazzled.

Sound crept into his dreams. Mut-
terings that grew to ominous rumblings,
and whisperings that mounted into
shrill cacophonic- screaming.

Followed a lightning swift sensation
of intense all-pervading cold, like death
— smothering him.

Doctor Foster's hands and feet
twitched in agony.

He awoke screaming.

r TJ , HE old face bent over him anxious-
ly. Smooth hands shook his shoul-
ders gently, like a mother soothing her
child after nightmare.

"What — why — where -"

"You feel better now?" the old voice

AMAZING STORIES

queried, when Doctor Foster's shoul-
ders relaxed, and he lay staring up at
its source wide-eyed.

He was silent a moment. A shiver
went over him, although he was no
longer cold.

"I don't know I" he moaned, "I don't
know — anything!"

"That's to be expected. You need
more rest, and more nourishment. This
mental confusion is natural. It will
pass. Don't be afraid. You are safe
here. We are both safe."

Something in the soft insinuating
tones repelled Doctor Foster.

"Safe?" he repeated, "What do you
mean?" He pushed up from the table.
"Don't let me go to sleep again! I
can't stand it! I won't! Tell me
where I am — and who I am!"

The old eyes gleamed strangely.

"All in good time."

But Doctor Foster wouldn't be put
off. He seized the old man's soft arm.

"No! Tell me now!"

The old man made a sighing sound,
and piled cushions under Doctor Fos-
ter's back until he was half-sitting.

"Look deep into my eyes," he said,
his furrowed face in line with Doctor
Foster's pale ascetic features, "I will
help you remember."

Again the young doctor felt a feel-
ing of great revulsion sweep over him,
but he cast it off, and his eyes stared
desperately into the enigmatic grey
eyes of the old man. And little by little
the mists that shrouded his mind cleared
away. . . .

He saw a shy studious boy, an orphan
and an introvert, whom he recognized
as himself. This boy, at an early age
decided to devote his acute mental pow-
ers to absorbing and clarifying scientific
knowledge.

He saw him as young college student,
burning midnight oil over psychiatry
and allied tomes, and discussing weighty

subjects with his only friend, a pudgy
student of bio-chemistry.

He saw him ten years later working
in a small private laboratory, attached
loosely to an important college, but
following through his early dreams of
scientific investigation.

Then, smeared across the face of the
planet by a maniac painter whose brush
was dipped in human blood, came War.

He saw his own life, and his friend
Langley Drew's life uprooted. He saw
everyone's life interrupted and pushed
about. He saw thousands upon thou-
sands of gallant young lives laid on the
altar of the horror-god, Mars. He saw
thousands of bewildered innocents
slaughtered. He saw half the world
maimed and raped and gutted.

And sometimes alone in his house
he wept. Wept because there was noth-
ing he could do.

His turn came to fight. He fought,
although it sickened his mind to it,
and was wounded and ravaged with
fever. Then at last he was returned
to his little laboratory, bitter and re-
solved.

"I hate and detest and despise and
abominate War!" he poured out his
feelings on his friend Drew, attached
to the staff of a large war hospital. "War
makes a mockery of reason and de-
cency. Of everything civilization stands
for!"

Langley Drew nodded soberly,
shrugged as if to say, "But what can
we do about it?"

OUT Doctor Foster's hatred of War
was a burning thing deep inside
him. It was a fanatical phobia by now:
a driving force that wouldn't let him
eat or sleep until he had completed a
plan whereby he could do something
about War — for himself at least. For
the sake of his own sanity.
The answer to the core of his prob-

THE MAN WHO HATED WAR 27

Iem, when it came, struck his mind with
meteoric force, and the rest was com-
paratively easy. Before he hardly knew
it, all was ready.

The great day came.

Through the front window he watched
impatiently while Langley Drew made
his ponderous way up the steps of the
big stone house. It was Winter, and
raining.

"Everything set?" Drew puffed,
shaking the rain off his big black um-
brella and pulling off his coat.

Doctor Foster just nodded, and
tugged his plump friend into his new
big home laboratory. A gigantic ap-
paratus half-filled it.

Langley Drew put on heavy glasses,
and inspected it minutely. It was
basically a white porcelain table under
glass-like material, with a strange su-
per-refrigerating device set beneath it.

"Let me try to absorb all this — "
Drew begged, licking his lips and
frowning. "By means of some — er —
psychiatric trick you have discovered
you mean to hypnotize yourself, then
have me freeze you instantaneously
inside that glass case. You'll be brought
out of this Sleeping Beauty act some
time in the distant future, when War is
a matter of dull ancient history. Is
that right?"

Doctor Foster laughed.

"You make it sound like a Houdini
stage illusion?"

"Seriously, Doc, do you think it'll
really work?"

Foster nodded gravely.

"I hope so. You see, I have dis-
covered a means of releasing my mental
consciousness from my physical self,
and transferring it to a higher dimen-
sion where all our Time exists at once.
At the proper three-dimensional time
this mental consciousness — labelled
Doctor Foster — will be returned to its
body, which by special refrigeration

will have been kept cell for cell exactly
as it is now through the passing cen-
turies!"

"Centuries!" Drew cried. "Wouldn't
one be enough?"

"I want to be positive — " Foster said,
shaking his head, "that by the time I
awaken the world will be a serene ma-
jestic planet, freed forever from the
shame that is War. . . ."

He handed his friend a tattered bulky
notebook wherein was contained ex-
plicit instructions regarding immediate
and future treatment of the machine
which, along with Foster's house and
other worldly goods, was to be handed
down to Drew's pudgy son when he
died. And to his son or daughter, and
so on down the Drew line — until the
hour of awakening arrived.

They shook hands solemnly. Then
Foster underwent the intricate prelimi-
naries he had planned so carefully, and
finally closed his eyes in a sleep almost
as long and as deep as death.

T^ROM that point on there was noth-
ing. Foster's mental images were
cut off clean, as with a knife.

He blinked, stirred, and stared un-
easily at the old man. His mind
throbbed with questions.

What had happened? Was this the
future? If so, why w^s he hidden away
in a little room, instead of forming the
nucleus of a large eager-eyed group of
future scientists, awed by this miracle?

"Tell me—" he began.

The old man nodded understanding-

iy.

"Now that you remember who you
are, you wish to know where you are,
and what kind of a world — "

"Yes, yes!"

Foster frowned. There was some-
thing in the old man's attitude, an elu-
sive shiftiness, that displeased him.

"As to yourself," the old man said,

AMAZING STORIES

"I know all about you. We all do. That
battered black notebook you handed
Langley Drew in 1943 has become an
important scientific document, read by
laymen and scientists alike. It tells
why you — "

"Did I succeed?" Foster cried im-
patiently. "Is this, the twenty-fifth
century?"

The old man nodded.

"My name is Anto Daw. I am a
descendant of Langley Drew, and a
passionate student of science. That is
why I awakened you, and saved your
life."

"Saved- — ?"

The old man looked away.

"First I will bring you up to date
in the history of the world from your
time to mine. After the Great War of
the 1940's !'

"Yes."

"There were others — "
"Other wars?"

The old man named Anto Daw
nodded.

"Small ones, mostly. And then for
over two hundred years there was
peace. Wonderful peace, and great
scientific advancement in the world.

"That was before the Science-Re-
ligion Cult grew to its full power. . . ."

Anto Daw drew a slender blue-veined
hand across his high forehead.

"The Science-Religion Cult was orig-
inated by a harmless group who made
fetishes of the scientific great, kneeling
in front of such science-saints as Louis
Pasteur, Dn Ehrlich, and many others.
Some you would not recognize.

"The movement spread all over the
world. And since other religions seemed
unnecessary in the light of all new
knowledge, and Science gave the peo-
ple their paradise here on Earth —
through prolonged and vigorous life, as
well as all possible comforts and lux-
uries—its popularity was easy to un-

derstand."

Anto Daw's eyes shone as he spoke.

"Go on," Foster prodded, when he
paused.

"The central figure in this worship
was a man known as The Immortal
One" — Anto Daw's eyes were on the
floor, and a cryptic half-smile flitted
over his lips— "and this man's disciples
swore that he would live forever, for-
telling the time when there would be
no more death on Earth for anyonel"

^■OW the old man stopped to con-
sult a time-piece on the table, and
then fed Doctor Foster more of the
colorless energy-concentrate.

Foster waited, puzzled and uneasy
again.

"About the next war- ?" he

hinted.

"Like every movement that has wide-
spread appeal Science-Religion had its
opponents. These reactionaries banded
together and took it upon themselves
to try to debunk Science-worship, and
bring about a return to the old Gods.

"They called the Science-Religion-
ists blasphemers and heretics — and
called The Immortal One the biggest
blasphemer of all. They tried to sup-
press his writings, and his disciples'
writings. They identified him with
Satan. And on several occasions they
tried to murder him.

"But the worshippers of The Im-
mortal One saved his life, and this at-
tempted suppression only angered them
and made them all the more violent in
their fanaticism. Many, possessed of
martyr complexes, sacrificed their lives
for this science-god.

"Incident followed incident — until
there was War in the world. The most
devastating ever seen on this planet.
Scientific achievement of past centuries
included forces of destruction beyond
anything your 1944 warriors could

THE MAN WHO HATED WAR

dream of. Whole cities, whole islands,
were wiped out by the flick of a finger.

"And it isn't over. It rages over our
heads at this very moment. I am a
scientist, an important scientist, I may
say. That was why I couldn't leave
you up there to be killed. That was
why I brought you down to this secret
subterranean room. Here we will both
be safe until it is all over . . ."

Doctor Foster buried his face in his
hands.

So this was what he had slaved and
sweated for! Toyed with Time in or-
der to be allowed to live five-hundred
years ahead! Now — to find himself in
a world more chaotic than the one he
had left!

Safe! His lip curled bitterly. What
difference could that make when there
were still men in the world who allowed
wars to be fought in their names !

Blazing anger sent his blood rush-
ing to his temples.

"This fake!" he cried. "This so-

called Immortal One! Why didn't he
prevent this war? If he had such power
over his disciples, why didn't he medi-
ate with "

"He couldn't," Anto Daw said soft-
ly, turning away.

Foster caught a glimpse of that un-
canny glitter in the old man's eyes as
he did so, and it sent a feeling of re-
vulsion Quivering through him. Re-
vulsion combined with sudden knowl-
edge —

"There's always a Hitler, an Alexan-
der — a traitor to Mankind! And The
Immortal One is the worst traitor of
them all!" Doctor Foster's face was
illuminated with fury. "And you are
that traitor! You are The Immortal
That is why you are hiding,!"
Anto Daw turned his lined face to-
ward the Doctor, and his eyes were
filled with a great sadness.

"No. I am only his high priest," he
said softly. "You are The Immortal
One!"

THE END

THE WONDER BEAN

FOR more than 5000 years a mainstay of
China, the soybean has made a wow of a
debut on our daily menues. These sprouts
are very interesting ... a fresh vegetable that
can be grown in any climate at any time of year,
without soil or sunlight, and in three to five days.
Soy sprouts can be grown in your kitchen or on
the back porch or the fire escape. All that's needed
is a fruit jar, a little chlorinated lime, a small
square of window screen or cheap cheesecloth, and
dried soybeans, which are inexpensive.

The variety of ways in which soy sprouts can
be prepared makes them appeal to almost every
palate. They can be boiled and served hot with
a savory sauce, or served cold in green or fruit
salads.

Being highly nutritious, soybeans are the most
complete natural foodstuff known. With the grow-
ing scarcity of animal foods, soy sprouts will be-
come increasingly important, both to meet our own
continuing food needs after the war and to help
the underfed or starving millions in Axis chained
countries.

You've probably been eating part soy doughnuts
and liking them, for many wholesale bakers have
been making them for some time. And if your

link sausage has shrunk less Id cooking lately,
that's because a small percentage of soy flour is
mixed with the ground meat.

The German scientist, Furstenberg, had a gift
of phophecy in 1917, when he visioned the soybean
as "the plant that is going to revolutionize the
nutrition of humanity." At that time Germany
was importing more of them than any other coun-
try, mostly from Manchuria.

One of Hitler's first acts after coming into
power was to plan a 2,000,000 ton soybean reserve.
He also arranged for vast soy planting in Ru-
mania and other Balkan coun.tri.es. Part of this
huge reserve has been used in making explosives
and other war chemicals, but most of it has been
milled into flour.

The soy surface has only been scratched accord-
ing to Dr. Artemy Alexis Havorth, who spent eight
years in the Peking Union Medical College study-
ing the more than 5000 different varieties of soy-
bean which have been developed in China.

Most of the vast increase of the soybean pro-
duction will be used by our own and other United
Nations armed forces, but soy dishes will be very
much the fashion in*all parts of the country in the
near future.— Ava Brown.

War Criminals of
Renault Island

By C. A. BALDWIN

MARS had the weapons — but they need-
ed Hitler's murderous skill in making war!

'*t I THAT'S enough! I warn you,
I Captain Lester, such fantastic
tales and unfounded charges
against Air Corps officers— and espe-
cially against government officials — can
only result in serious personal reper-
cussions. However, in view of your gal-
lant conduct in the past war, I'm choos-
ing to overlook what you have just said
to me. As far as I am concerned, it has
never been said. But understand, Cap-
tain, I won't repeat the courtesy. From
now on your lips must be sealed!"

I could feel the blood rush to my face
and anger surge through my body as
General Hammond's icy words came at
me with the cold blast of space. The
surprise and shock were hardly as great
as my mortification. Discretion, learned
in seven years of service in the famous
XJ. S. Air Corps, was something I had
never understood, in this moment. I
exploded, emotionally, and spoke.

"General, I'm accusing no one! Iam
merely asking for an investigation.
We've got to make sure that Hitler and
Hirohito are actually still in exile on
Renault Island, or whether they have
escaped, their getaway covered up by
the substitution of a couple of disguised
stooges. *

"My information is true! I know it

is. The investigation wouldn't be to
convince me ! I cannot understand how
anyone can risk repeating the smug
complacency that was the cause of the
slaughter at Pearl Harbor and of the
disaster that followed on Bataan!"

"Captain Lester . . ."

"Hear me through!" I snapped.
"General, if those two murderers are on
the loose, we can expect plenty of
trouble. How can you sit there under-
neath your brass hat and behind your
shiny buttons and close your eyes to
something that demands investigation,
if only to determine its untruth? What
if I'm right? You'll be criminally ac-
cused . . ."

The general's eyes pinpointed mine,
his face took on the color of a beet, and
his lips set in grim, straight lines. He
half-rose, then sank back in his chair. I
could see the effort he made to regain
control of his temper, and it sent a sud-
den chill through me. There was some-
thing here . . .

"Captain Lester," the general said
coldly, "consider yourself under arrest
pending courtmartial proceedings. The
charge is conduct and language unbe-
coming an officer and a gentleman. This
army has no place in it for men who be-
lieve fairy tales . . . Forbes, place this

AMAZING STORIES

man under—"

"Arrest, hell!" I burst out, stung by
the implication of dishonorable dis-
charge contained in General Ham-
mond's last remark. The courtmartial
he intended for me would be a farce.
But there was one thing General Ham-
mond didn't know— "You can't arrest
a civilian, Hammond, and that's what I
am as of one hour ago. My official dis-
charge was effective then. And now,
since you've taken it upon yourself to
make threats, I'll make a few of my
own — or rather, not threats, but prom-
ises. When this whole thing comes home
to roost, I'll be in the front row at your
courtmartial — and I'll have plenty to
say as one of your accusers! Put that
in your brass hat and let it stew ! "

I started to salute, remembered I was
no longer in the Army, wheeled and
stalked out of the door, making sure to
slam it so that it trembled on its hinges.
With me I carried the memory of a pur-
ple face; but I knew, too, that mine was
as purple, to judge from the heat that
flamed from my cheeks as I walked
blindly down the street outside.

AXTTTH the cold air blowing on my
face, the tempest of anger in me
began to subside, and I started to do
some sane thinking. I realized that I'd
made a chump of myself by flying off
the handle. Civilian or not, my out-
burst would serve no useful purpose. I
was still theoretically in the service of
my country, my discharge having come
only because of my particular knowl-
edge of rocketry and aviation in rela-
tion to space ships. It had been sug-
gested that I work out my ideas in a
government laboratory.

And, after all, the story I had told the
general was completely devoid of any
concrete proof. If I had told him the
whole truth of my source of informa-
tion, I would have been tossed into the

psychopathic ward of the Army hospi-
tal. I couldn't tell him the actual story of
the half-crazed guard from Renault and
his only partly coherent ravings about
space ships, strange visitors, of his sub-
jection to torture for observing forbid-
den sights and threatening the com-
mandant with exposure, of an escape in
an open boat to drift for many days
without food or water . . .

It would have been different if I could
have produced the guard, but he had
vanished as if the earth had swallowed
him up when I returned with food and
water and aid to carry him from that
icy beach.

"What I need is a drink I" I con-
cluded aloud.

I reversed my blind course down the
street and finally reached my hotel. In
my room I mixed several drinks, then
sat down to think over my plans for the
future. Somehow my enthusiasm for
the government laboratory was com-
pletely dampened. I couldn't get my
heart into it. I could think only of
that poor devil lying there on the wet
sand, gasping out his story . . .

I was mixing my third drink when I
heard a knock at the door. My dispo-
sition had not been the least improved
by the drinks, so I yelled: "Come in,
dammit!"

T^HE door opened and I found myself
gazing confusedly at a tall, slender
girl whose beauty and dignity of car-
riage brought unchecked admiration
into my eyes and lifted me with undue
haste from the chair in which I had
been crouched.

"Captain Lester, I believe?" Her
voice had all the qualities of soft melody
mingled with the music of a delightful
accent, accentuated by the fact that I
was hearing and seeing her through a
rosy cloud of good scotch whiskey.

When my tongue released itself from

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

its temporary paralysis I corrected her.

"Ez-Captain Lester."

"Yes. I know about that," she nod-
ded. She entered the room, closed the
door, and gracefully seated herself in
the chair I had just vacated.

With a start I recalled my manners,
military and civilian. I bowed a bit
awkwardly and reached for the scotch.
"Will you have a drink. . . ."

"No, thank you."

"Then may I offer my services,
Miss . . . ?"

"The name doesn't matter at the mo-
ment," she said. "For the sake of con-
venience, you can call me Jonice. If
those services you mention are still on
call when I tell you what I want, you'll
learn more about me."

The soft, sure way in which she
spoke, the slow, graceful gestures of her
beautiful hands, served to rivet my at-
tention to her. My eyes went to her
exquisite proudly-cast face and I didn't
want to avert them, even at the risk of
staring rudely.

"They could be pretty stiff before I'd
back down," I committed myself rashly.

"They're stiff," she said. "You may
even want to recall the obvious compli-
ment."

I flushed, swallowed the rest of my
drink and put the glass down on the
table. Then I leaned back, hands on
the table edge to brace myself, and said:
"Okay, shoot."

"I'll come straight to the point.
Don't interrupt, because my time is
limited. If you accept, you'll get a
fuller explanation and answers to any
questions that may occur to you. If
you don't accept, you'll know as little
as I can possibly tell you, and you'll for-
get what I do tell you."

My lips tightened; this was the sec-
ond time today someone had taken a
crack at my memorizing liberties and
almost instantly I mentally withdrew

fifty percent of my offer of my services.
I would have gone all the way, but a
girl with the looks she had made me
want to be a sucker to some extent at
least. Chris Lester, late of the Air
Force, is certainly not late of the ordi-
nary virility of the male of the species I
So I just listened for more.

Jonice handed it out fast. "You are
one of the few men on Earth who has
some reason to believe that Hitler and
Hirohito are no longer confined to their
island exile."

T DIDN'T need to brace myself
against the table. I was erect on my
feet, jolted there by that straight shot
to the jaw.

"Keep talking!" I said tensely.

"Although your information was not
of a concrete nature, you undertook to
convince a certain high authority of its
truth. For your pains you were se-
verely criticized, and if you'd still been
in the Air Force, you'd be in a cell
awaiting courtmartial.

"The fact that you have this informa-
tion is not too important to you now,
but the fact that you are no longer
bound by oath of allegiance to the
United States Army is important to my
government. Therefore we are pre-
pared to offer — "

I was standing right in front of her
now, looking down at her upturned face.
"Look I'm no longer an officer in the
Army Air Force, and I have damned
little respect for the brass hats who are
running it; but I am still a loyal citizen
of the United States and any informa-
tion I have is not for sale I "

Very patiently, in a slow, deliberate
voice, she told me everything that had
happened to me, repeated every detail
of what I knew. She concluded: "Do
you know anything we'd have to pay to
learn?"

I stepped back, considerably cooled

AMAZING STORIES

off. She was punching too hard and
fast for me. If I didn't want to appear
to be a complete jackass, I'd better hear
her out. The wind was completely
taken out of my sails. I pulled up a
chair and made up my mind to stay
there until she was finished.

"My mouth is shut and my ears
open," I said.

"Fine, she said, and it seemed to me
her eyes were smiling a little. "Now,
here's the story. You have a chance to
help save your country from invasion
and ruin. You are also a forlorn hope
to save my own country and entire
world from complete domination and
slavery under Hitler and Hirohito. I
came to that conclusion because of one
fact: your own beliefs in rocketry and
ships designed to travel through space,
and the manner in which you gave cre-
dence — sufficient to open yourself to ex-
actly the ridicule you received — to the
story of an actual space ship at Renault.
There was a space ship there — from
Uranus. I, too, am from Uranus!"

She eyed me for the fraction of a sec-
ond to see if she had shocked my cre-
dulity beyond reason, then she went on
when I only swallowed hard and re-
mained silent.

"Hitler and Hirohito are no longer on
Renault. With the connivance of
treacherous and personally ambitious
men in your Government and Army,
and with the assistance of power-loving
men of Mars, their escape has been ef-
fected. Both are now on Mars, and
have been there for the past two years."

ASTOUNDING statement after as-
tounding statement. But what she
had said before was true — I had be-
lieved one fantastic thing, now it was
reasonable that I should believe more,
if only to be consistent. So I said noth-
ing, only listened as she continued her
incredible recital.

"Mars is inhabited by a war-making
people who have plans to conquer the
entire solar system. Their plans have
been made possible by the genius of
their scientists who have created space
ships that will carry thousands of men
and deadly weapons into every area of
the system.

"The Martians have all the qualities
necessary for making war on such a gi-
gantic plan — except the strategical abil-
ity that very nearly carried the Axis to
victory. That is where the two pris-
oners of Renault Island come into the
picture. Their cunning and military
planning, coupled with their inherent
treachery, was well-known to the Mar-
tians and consequently their escape was
arranged. The Martians believe that
given a second chance to plan, and this
time eliminating their fatal errors of
their first attempt, failure would be im-
possible.

"Temporarily, however, that isn't the
whole answer to the Martian scheme;
the space ships that will provide the two
dictators with the 'secret weapon' they
didn't have before, can't be built in suf-
ficient numbers— yet. The reason is
stulite, an ore which provides the pro-
pulsion energy. You here on Earth
know it in one form as U-235, an iso-
tope of uranium. Mars hasn't much
stulite.

"But Uranus has! Inestimable quan-
tities of it.

"Ordinarily, that should control the
situation, reasoning from an Earth
standpoint. And up to now, it has been
a controlling factor. Knowing the plan
of the Martians, we have allowed no ex-
ports' of stulite. Thus, the Martians
haven't been able to build the thousands
of ships necessary to crush all opposi-
tion.

"The net result of all this has been
the selection of Uranus by the Martians
as their first opponent. Our space ships

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

are small. We don't know how to make
them bigger. Nor have we any weapons,
except a defensive ray which thus far
has persuaded many of our people that
there is no need for offensive weapons.
But recently a Martian scout ship was
seen to apparently encounter the ray
and escape unscathed. We are not sure,
but if it is true, it means the secret of
the ray may have been partly or wholly
counteracted by Martian scientists.

"The people of Uranus are not a race
of warriors. Their talents, their sci-
ences, have always been turned to the
advancement of culture and social life.
Up to the present time we have never
even dreamed of an army. We don't
know how to fight, to put it most
bluntly.

"Now the attack is coming — with
everything the Martians can muster.
Not too much, but more than enough for
the conquest of Uranus. Then, with un-
limited power at hand, and with thou-
sands of ships already built, they will
be ready for instant expansion of their
plan. Once Earth falls, nothing can
stop it! Or, more pertinently, once
Uranus falls, Earth will be helpless, and
the entire solar system with it."

CHE stopped speaking and now I real-
ized that the surety in her voice was
gone. It was replaced by the obviously
pathetic pleading of a child, of one who
is helpless and realizes it. And yet, I
knew that he pause was not because she
had nothing further to say, nor the will
to say it. I ended her hesitation.

"What makes you tell me all this?"

She looked straight at me. "Captain
Lester, I am offering you command of
all the forces of Uranus."

I stood up. "Me! A mere captain in
the Army Air Force I "

"Consider," she said. "You are a
successful leader of men — your exploits
in the war proved that. You are a me-

chanical genius, being one of the few
men on Earth who have started experi-
ment in space travel. The action of
your secret government in making it
possible to continue that experiment
proves how highly you are regarded . . ."

"Just a minute," I said. "What do
you mean, secret government?"

"Isn't it logical that the government
that would want to help you in your
work to aid a world's defense would not
be the same government represented by
the general who chose to threaten you
with what amounts to Totalitarianism?"

"I don't get it," I said bluntly.

"And I don't propose to explain fur-
ther," she said. "Let's go on with those
considerations I had begun to enumer-
ate. You are a man without known
relatives or particular friends. Your
disappearance would not be noted nor
commented upon. Not even by such
men as General Hammond."

"By that, I gather, you mean Ham-
mond is one of those traitors you claim
is working, has worked, with the Mar-
tians. Perhaps even one of the men
who helped engineer the escape of Hit-
ler and Hirohito from the island?"

"You are clever" she admitted. "And
you make plain my final point: the rea-
son I came to you. You are the only
Earthman I feel sure is not an enemy.
You are the only Earthman to whom I
can come." She stood up and faced me.
"Captain Lester, will you . . ."

I don't think she had enough control
of her voice to finish.

Somehow that realization brought a
lump to my throat, and a peculiar feel-
ing deep inside.

T WALKED slowly over to the win-
dow and looked out. Down below
was the city, an Earth city. It was so
fantastic to consider. I was being told
now, all in one tremendous, undigestible
dose, that there were other than Earth

AMAZING STORIES

cities, other than Earth civilizations,
other than Earth people who had emo-
tions exactly like Earth people. I was
being told there were peaceful planets,
warlike planets, otherwordly hates and
fears and loves and hopes. I was being
relegated to a position as just one unit
in a whole which was in turn only a
unit in another whole.

Only this morning I had been a mere
captain in the U. S. Air Corps. I had
looked at the blue sky and wondered if
a ship would some day leave the Earth
and land on another planet. Then I
had found a man who had been dying,
and who had said he had seen a ship
come from another planet. Now I was
talking (if I chose to believe it) to a
beautiful girl from Uranus; was listen-
ing to her tell me Mars was about to at-
tack her world and mine; that Hitler
and Hirohito had escaped, and were
heading the new invasion.

It was utterly fantastic I

As my eyes traveled slowly over
Washington's skyline, noting familiar
buildings, finally coming to rest on the
reality of the White House and the em-
blem of liberty the Stars and Stripes,
flying proudly from its staff, I suddenly
found that it wasn't too fantastic to be-
lieve. I did believe it!

I turned to face the girl who called
herself Jonice.

"Tell me, why do you think I can be
of any help?"

She hesitated only an instant. "When
your war was in progress, we kept fully
abreast of its developments by means
of which you have no understanding at
the moment. Your exploits, your natu-
ral talent for leading men to the swift
destruction of your enemies, became
known to us.

"When we realized that you were
such a man as we needed, we placed
you under special observation. We
know intimately of your acquaintances,

your opinions, your loyalty to your gov-
ernment. We saw and heard when the
Renault guard told you what had hap-
pened. We knew what would happen
to you when you went to General Ham-
mond.

"I know it would influence you not
at all if I told you that you could have
whatever a world advanced in culture
could offer, if you would come to lead
our armies. So I am just saying one
word now that I swear comes straight
from my heart. Please . . ."

It was the right word, because then
and there I was ready to lay my life at
her feet.

CHAPTER II

Through Space to Uranus

T PACKED only a few cherished per-
sonal items and as twilight started
to descend over Washington, we left the
hotel. As we emerged, a car drew to
the curb. A hand released the door.
Jonice quickly entered, and I hesitated
only a second while taking one last fleet-
ing glance at the scenes and Govern-
ment buildings that had become so
much a part of my life. With a quick
intake of breath that was evidence of
the casting out of my last doubts, I
stepped into the car and sank down on
its cushions.

As the car started off, Jonice's voice
cut through the darkness. "You will find
the wisdom and experience of our Coun-
cil Minister to be most helpful. This is
he, Tamura Vlitta," and she accom-
panied the words with a gesture to her
left.

I could distinguish the outlines of a
finely chiseled head and the vague lines
of a luxurious beard. My extended
hand was grasped by one that was soft,
but' wrinkled with age. From the awk-
wardness of his handshake I knew that

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

it was not a customary salutation, but
the words, "My son, your presence
gives me great pleasure and renewed
hope," made me feel that he was one
whose friendship I could be sure of,
whose cooperation would be given most
willingly.

The car, which had been traveling
rapidly, now left the outskirts of Wash-
ington and increased its speed as we hit
the broad highways and lessened traffic.
A mantle of silence fell over the car and,
although I was sure Jonice had much to
tell me, I was grateful for the respite to
collect my thoughts and prepare myself
mentally for what was to come.

Finally the driver turned off the main
highway and the car started to bounce
and jolt over an unpaved road. A few
times Jonice was thrown roughly
against me. I placed a hand on her
shoulder to steady her and received a
slight smile for my thoughtfulness. Just
as I was on the point of breaking the
silence, the car came to a stop in a
heavily wooded section, in back of
which I could dimly ascertain the out-
lines of an old farm house.

The motion of the car had no sooner
ceased when it was surrounded by a
group of men with guns pointed at us
in a very businesslike fashion.

Jonice called, "All is well." The guns
were quickly pocketed and two of the
men hastened to throw open the doors.
As the three of us emerged from the
car, the entire group placed their right
hands over their hearts and inclined
their heads in a salute of respect to
Tamura Vlitta, their Council Minister.

Without further ado, Jonice said,
"Come. Time grows short." The men
immediately formed a rough circle
around us and led the way along a path
through the brush and dense vegetation
that had sprung up around the aban-
doned farm house.

Then as we broke into the clear and

approached the house, I saw still a
larger group of men surrounded by
packages and bundles of all descrip-
tions. Again came the peculiar salute
of respect. The packages were quickly
picked up and the entire assemblage
started to move toward the open field
that I could see beyond the house. We
moved rapidly toward a long, high
shape which I could discern looming out
of the darkness.

At a command the men broke into
action and a tarpaulin which had been
covered over with hay to resemble a
long haystack came sliding down to re-
veal the graceful outline of a space ship.
Even in the complete darkness the
metal of which the ship was made gave
off a luminous glow that made the sur-
rounding darkness seem even more
black.

A door was thrown open, the interior
of the ship was bathed in a soft light
and Jonice, Tamura Vlitta and myself
filed in to be immediately followed by
the others. All of this action, from the
time the car had stopped in front of the
farm house, had been accomplished in
almost complete silence.

TV/TY FIRST brief glance at the in-
terior of the ship revealed luxuri-
ous appointments, compact and artist-
ically designed furnishings. Then I
turned to get a look at those who were
to be my companions on the trip
through space, and perhaps my fighting
mates in time to come.

Tamura Vlitta was much as I had
pictured him — extremely old, but carry-
ing bis splendid height with the
straightness and ease of a young man.
As my eyes traveled to take in the
others of the party, I could not help
but be impressed. Almost without ex-
ception they were quite tall and slender.
They were built along classic lines with
high foreheads denoting intelligence,

AMAZING STORIES

large eyes, long of limb, and beautiful
hands and fingers. Certainly this was
not a race of warriors, but a nation of
artists born to create and construct.

I noted suddenly a bit red-faced, that
I was being studied just as closely as I
had studied. And, now Jonice, who had
been standing close by, stepped forward
with her lovely smile and said, "Gentle-
men, this is Captain Lester, of whose
past history you already know a great
deal.

"It is to him we shall look for guid-
ance in all affairs pertaining to the de-
fense of Uranus. Therefore, in behalf
of the Supreme Council and its ruling
head I hereby pronounce Chris Lester
the Commander of our forces to repel
the Martian who will soon be attacking
our civilization."

Quickly, then, she introduced each
man, who, when his name was called,
would step forward, smile and place his
hand over his heart — omitting the bow
which I took for granted was accorded
only to their Council Minister and other
ranking dignitaries.

Each introduction was but the men-
tion of a name until she reached the last
in the circle that had drawn about us.
He was a handsome youngster, set
apart from the others by a pair of
brown flashing eyes that gave the im-
pression that he was built with electric
wires and springs and would spark and
bounce at any moment. Here was no
scientist or creator, but an adventurer
with an inborn love for fighting.

I had noticed a striking resemblance
to Jonice, and therefore was not greatly
surprised when she said, with pride in
her voice, "Janito, my brother."

He came forward eagerly, clasped
my hand instead of using the ceremonial
gesture to which I had already become
accustomed, and in a vibrant voice said,
"I welcome a fighting man to Uranus.
Please accept my services to use as you

deem best."

I was about to acknowledge his sin-
cere speech when the ship gave a ter-
rific lurch and while I was trying to re-
gain my balance, Jonice, voice husky
with emotion, said, "We return to Ura-
nus."

CHAPTER III

An Internal Enemy

J AWOKE the next morning in the
unaccustomed surroundings of a
space ship cabin. We had retired al-
most immediately after the start of the
flight when Jonice had pleaded exhaus-
tion and suggested that our conversa-
tion be resumed in the morning.

The view from my cabin window
showed only a bleak grayness remind-
ing me of nothing more than the fogs
I had witnessed in England.

I jumped from my cot, dressed hast-
ily and, entering the main cabin, found
that I had already been preceded at
breakfast by Jonice and her brother.
Jonice greeted me with her usual
charming smile and Janito immediately
arose and beckoned to a waiter. I no-
ticed that members of the crew were
busy about their tasks, passing through
various doors and all seriously intent
upon their projects.

"Let me warn you," Jonice said.
"Our journey may be hazardous. Our
trip is known to our enemies and they'll
stop at nothing to prevent this ship
from returning to Uranus. Indeed, only
the clever navigation of our pilot pre-
vented us from being intercepted on our
flight to your country."

"We have weapons for defense?"

"Offensive and defensive ray guns.
But they would prove inadequate if we
were attacked in force. The operations
of the ship and its weapons will be ex-
plained to you."

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

As she spoke, I had the premonition
that the flight to Uranus would prove
to be anything but uneventful. At the
same time I felt a bit frustrated that
there was nothing further I could do to
prepare for what might be a battle for
life.

Moments later, while I was convers-
ing with Janice, I saw her eyes light up
and a smile illuminate her face. Turn-
ing in the direction of her glance, I saw
a tall, powerfully built fellow entering
the cabin. I don't know whether it was
the sullen set of his eyes, or the indif-
ferent, almost insolent look he bestowed
upon me; at any rate I took an instinc-
tive dislike to him.

Jonice said, "Here is, Lyonul Relvon,
our Second Council Minister and one of
the foremost space navigators of Ura-
nus. Lyonul was busy plotting the
course for our homeward journey last
night, and therefore, was unable to greet
us upon our arrival."

In spite of my intuitive dislike for
him, I offered my hand. Slowly, his
eyes took me in, and in a tone that left
little doubt as to his feelings, remarked,
"I see you are here."

I burned inside, but thought I would
be wise enough to return the snub with
actions rather than words. Deliber-
ately turning my back to him, I faced
the girl, who had been a silent witness
to the little by-play.

"Jonice, I believe — "

My words were cut short by a vi-
cious slap over the side of my face and
ear that made my head ring.

"Your insolence for a hired killer
is — "

That was as far as he got. Recover-
ing from his blow, I wheeled and drove
my left fist toward his body. As his
arms came down in a gesture of in-
stinctive protection, I crashed my right
hand into his mouth. He fell backward
as if he had been hit with a battering

ram, staggered and finally smashed
against the wall, then sank to the floor.

JONICE, her face white with anger,
jumped to her feet. When she saw
that Relvon was merely stunned, she
exclaimed, "Your position has made you
too presumptuous, Lyonul ! The Cap-
tain intended no disrespect in address-
ing me as Jonice. He has not been in-
formed of my title. Your hasty action
has brought you a well deserved punish-
ment."

Then, turning to me, she continued.
"Perhaps I am largely at fault for not
telling you that I am the ruling head of
Uranus, Princess Jonice."

I swallowed hard. She went on:

"Although his attack upon you was
an insufferable act, your action is not
to be condoned. As Military Com-
mander of Uranus, you have committed
a serious breach in striking a Council
Member. This would not go unpun-
ished if you were familiar with our laws
and customs."

Still raging inwardly, I replied, "My
apologies, Princess, for subjecting you
to an exhibition of my anger. But, if I
understand my position correctly as the
military head of Uranus, I am by vir-
tue of that position in active command
of this fighting craft. Consequently, an
attack upon me by one of its crew or
passengers becomes an act of mutiny
and by the usual military standards is
punishable by death.

"And, while this is an unpleasant in-
cident, it is perhaps a good thing that
it did occur. If I am not to have the
cooperation of every citizen of Uranus,
including its Princess and Council
Members, we may just as well turn this
ship around right now and call off the
whole deal."

The anger fled from her eyes to be
replaced by hurt and confusion. A tear
or two started, and Princess or not, I

AMAZING STORIES

could see that she was still a young and
unhappy girl who understood little of
the ways of men or war.

Perhaps she saw the look of com-
miseration that stole over my face, be-
cause she gently laid her hand upon
mine and said, "I'm sorry, Captain. It
seems as if we have all been very fool-
ish."

I was about to answer and add an
apology when Relvon, whom we had
both momentarily forgotten, broke into
the conversation. He was now standing
upright, holding a handkerchief to his
bleeding mouth.

He seemed to have recovered com-
plete use of his faculties and said
quietly, "A thousand pardons, Princess.
I deeply regret that I have given you
cause to doubt the trust yoa have placed
in me. I assure you that my actions
were due solely to my anxiety to uphold
the dignity of your position and title."

He turned toward me: "You have
been selected by our council as com-
mander of our military organization so
long as the council believes that a state
of emergency exists.

"Although I alone was opposed to
bringing you to Uranus, I will abide
loyally by your decisions and com-
mands — for the sake of Uranus. But,"
his eyes narrowed to mere slits, "I will
not forget the foul Wow and after the
Council has been convinced that their
fears of a war with Mars are groundless,
our personal score will be settled."

I started to burn up all over again
and was just on the point of administer-
ing a real Yankee thrashing, when I
was stopped by the look in Jonice's
eyes. That look would have stopped an
army of men, so my arms dropped
limply to my sides and I retired to my
own cabin.

HPHE next few days were uneventful,
but most interesting. From Janito

I learned much of Uranus, its people,
their habits, their sciences.

In air travel, radio, and in a few
other phases of civilization, they were
far superior to our own most modern
developments. Space travel was quite
common; television had been perfected
years ago; and the solutions to many of
the social problems that had troubled
earth dwellers made Uranus almost a
Utopia.

Their secret trips to earth had been
frequent; where their scientists had ob-
tained many of their ideas and devel-
oped them to even more complete and
advanced stages than on earth.

The one thing that had amazed me
was quite simply explained. I had been
astonished by the fact that every indi-
vidual on the ship spoke perfect English
and was even more astonished to learn
that the English language was being
taught in their schools in contemplation
of commercial relations with Earth.

My mechanical education was most
fascinating. I learned the principles of
their mastery of space travel, how to
operate and pilot the space ship, and
was shown the mysteries of their small
offensive and defensive ray guns.

After that, and bearing in mind
Jonice's warning that Uranus had never
had an army or any military training, I
insisted upon a daily gunnery drill. Al-
though the crew sadly lacked military
precision I found, to my delight, that
they were natural marksmen and almost
wished for a skirmish so that I could see
what they were capable of doing under
combat conditions.

Lyonul Relvon, I learned, was the
fair-haired boy with the Princess. His
aggressiveness, worldly manner and ap-
parent devotion to her had quite swept
the beautiful lady off her feet, and it
appeared that Uranus was doomed to
have a new regent thrust upon it.

This was a most unhappy moment for

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

me as I had fallen completely and mad-
ly in love with Jonice.

CHAPTER IV

Action

TN THE navigation room I had just

been informed that Uranus was but
two more days journey and I was about
to enter the main cabin to discuss the
arrival with Princess Jonice, when the
door of the radio room was thrown open
and the operator came lunging out.

He stopped his wild rush when he
sighted me and exclaimed, "The visa-
screen shows a Martian battle craft ap-
proaching! "

I almost knocked the chap off his feet
as I piled into the radio room. I
sounded the alarm siren, threw on the
communication switch, and yelled,
"Battle stations! Martian ship ap-
proaching! "

Jumping to the visa-screen, I saw a
giant battle craft coming up on our left.
Almost immediately another object
came into view and I broke out in a
cold sweat as I realized it was another
battle cruiser flanking us on our right.
My despair was about complete when
the screen showed still another ship
rapidly closing in from the rear.

We were in the nutcracker — caught
in the center of the triangle with three
powerful battle wagons ready to blast
us wide open !

Running into the main cabin I saw
the men already at their gun stations
and the remainder of the crew crowded
around the portholes. Jonice, although
I could see the despair in her eyes, was
every inch a princess as she stood sur-
rounded by her aides. I had but time
for one fleeting glance before her brave
smile of encouragement sent me into
battle determined to blast plenty of
Martians to hell before we were de-

stroyed.

Janito was running back and forth
along the gun stations, eyes blazing,
and encouraging the men with the
swellest line of fight chatter that I had
ever heard. I knew he'd take his share
of Martians with him.

The enemy ships had now come into
eye view and I took over active com-
mand. I quickly gave the men their as-
signments, determined to get in a few
telling shots before the enemy had time
to concentrate their fire.

"Keep your heads," I instructed.
"Make every shot count and direct your
fire at their control rooms."

I was about to give the command to
open fire when the P.A. system started
to sputter. The distorted noises ceased
in a moment and then a guttural Mar-
tian voice filled the cabin.

"Your position is hopeless. Surren-
der within five minutes and you will be
given decent treatment as prisoners.
Resist, and you will be blown to atoms."

I turned toward Jonice in time to
hear Relvon say, "But, Princess, re-
sistance would be futile. The odds are
more than hopeless. I implore you not
to send men to useless deaths. I advo-
cate surrender and taking our chances
with the enemy."

T SAW the Princess' eyes sweep the
room and knew her determination
was wavering as she realized that death
would be the only reward for battle.
Keyed to fighting pitch, I was at her
side in a moment.

"Princess, our chances aren't worth
a plugged dime, but I didn't accept this
job to come out here and surrender
without pulling a trigger. We may die,
but there will be a few less Martians
that will need killing later on. To sur-
render now would place you and the
highest officials of Uranus in the hands
of the enemy.

AMAZING STORIES

"You know that you'll be used as bar-
gaining material and that the citizens
of Uranus would sacrifice everything in-
cluding their Stulite resources to assure
your safe return. If we have to die to
save a world, then let's go out as fight-
ing men."

I saw the indecision leave her face
and her regal poise return. "Make the
fight a gallant one, Captain," she said.

A lump came into my throat as I
realized that I was looking at this glori-
ous creature for what was probably the
last time. Taking her hand, I pressed
it to my lips and then, glancing at her
saw her eyes swimming in tears.

I wheeled as Relvon, with a muttered
curse, left the cabin.

"To your station, Relvon," I
snapped. "This is going to be a fight
for all of us." His eyes blazed at me
with all the ferocity of a ray gun, but
he stalked to his station.

Again the voice from the amplifier
flooded the room. "Your time is up.
I hope you will not force us to destroy
you."

Throwing open the transmitting
switch, I replied: "He who runs away,
lives to fight another day. But, Mar-
tians, we don't give a damn for another
day. So, my answer is . . ." With
the downward sweep of my hand, all
our guns went into action.

Hell broke loose. Our ship rocked
and plunged from the recoil of our own
guns and was buffeted to all angles as
the enemies' ray bubbles exploded over
and below us.

Our first volley had caught the ship
on our left at a lucky angle, where the
ray screen was weakest, and huge holes
opened in its side as black smoke poured
out. The other two ships had been
broadside so our bursts exploding
against their defense rays did nothing
but make them reel and buck.

The action became fast and furious

with never a pause in the firing. None
of their shots had as yet penetrated our
defense ray, but I noted a worried frown
creasing the brow of one of the rear
gunners. He continued firing, but I
could see that he was in trouble. Just
as I started toward him, he called out,
"Rear defense ray is gone, and — " He
never finished because a glancing ray
shot burned through the hull and buried
itself in his chest. The first man had
died in the defense of Uranus.

^'OW, I could see that the shock of
some of our own rays had blasted
portions of the enemies' defense area
and that holes had been opened in their
hulls. But, I could see we were in
plenty of trouble. The heavier and
more numerous guns of our enemy were
rapidly breaking down our defense
areas and more and more of their ray
bursts were coming through.

The situation was fast becoming
hopeless. More of our men were drop-
ping to the floor with holes burned
through them. It was a slaughter, but
we had made our choice and had com-
mitted ourselves to what actually
amounted to suicide. We were being
slowly battered to pieces and the end
could be only a few minutes away.

Suddenly a shout went up. The
cruiser on our right broke into flames
and then exploded with a blast that sent
us spinning end over end. "At least,"
I thought, "We're taking plenty of com-
pany with us."

The end was near now. Only a few
of our guns were firing and dead men
were strewn all over the floor. In the
next cabin, Jonice and a few others
were giving what aid they could to the
wounded. I sickened as my gaze trav-
eled over the cabin of death.

Just as the ship staggered from a
burst in the tail section, a wild, mad idea
flashed through my mind. There was

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

one chance in ten million that it would
succeed, but, we were doomed either
way.

"Cease firing," I yelled. "Into the
sleeping quarters, quick!"

The tired, discouraged men quickly
filed into the sleeping quarters as I
dashed to where the Princess and re-
maining men were assembled. Rapidly,
I herded them all in the other cabin and
in a few seconds outlined the plan that
had only the slimmest chance of suc-
cess.

My explanation was greeted only by
silence from the tired men, with the ex-
ception of Janito, who cried, "It will
work! Come on, men, we'll live to kill
a million Martians."

The enthusiasm of the youngster was
contagious and tired eyes brightened
while drooping shoulders lifted.

"Martians," I called into the micro-
phone, "Martians, we have ceased fir-
ing. You can board our ship." Fear-
fully I waited for the answer which
would hold the key to the initial success
of my plan.

Their ray guns ceased firing, but it
seemed like an eternity before our am-
plifier started to buzz, indicating that
they had opened their transmitter.

The same guttural voice filled the
cabin. "For the destruction of two of
our ships, we should blast you apart.
Only because of the humanitarian in-
tervention of Hirohito, the great Nip-
ponese Emperor, are you being spared."

Hirohito was on their remaining
craft! My head started to pound as I
realized that yellow-skinned rat was al-
most within reach of my fingers. "If
only the plan will work. It must
work," were the thoughts that flashed
through my mind.

The amplifier rattled again. "The
Princess Jonice, Janito, Tamura Vlitta
and Captain Lester will take your space
raft and come aboard our ship. The

remainder of your party will stay on
your liner, in full view, until negotia-
tions are completed. Any trickery and
we will blast you without warning."

The mention of my name was a
shock. How did they know that I was
on board? "Damned good espionage,"
I thought.

"Our two rafts have been destroyed,"
I replied. "You'll have to send for us,
or come aboard."

"Our own rafts have suffered minor
damage," came the answer. "They will
be ready shortly. In the meantime,
your ship will remain motionless. Do
not try to escape. At the first sign of
motion from your ship, we will finish
the job."

So far, so good. The delay would
work to our advantage.

The amplifier had again fallen silent
and excited conversation had broken
out among the men. Janito was giving
pep talks, reminding me of a football
quarterback. Jonice's eyes were fol-
lowing me and I could see that renewed
hope had given her spirits a lift. Only
Relvon did not seem to be taking an ac-
tive part in the conversation or dis-
cussing the plans with the other Council
Members.

"Queer," I thought. "Perhaps, he's
still sulking about that sock I gave
him."

I didn't know how much time was
left before they would have their rafts
repaired and come for us. I called to
the men and gave them their last in-
structions. I knew I was looking upon
many of them for the last time as, even
if the. plan was successful, the toll of
lives would be terrific.

CHAPTER V
Punch and Parley

INSTRUCTIONS given and repeated,
the men were scattered around in

AMAZING STORIES

groups, seeking what rest they could be-
fore the supreme effort.

I drifted toward a corner of the main
cabin, seeking a few moments silence
to gather my wits for the encounter.
Weariness came over me in waves as I
realized the tremendous responsibilities
that rested upon my shoulders.

Steeped in thought, with my head
sunk in my hands, I did not hear or see
Jonice approach. A soft hand upon my
shoulder made me aware of her pres-
ence.

"Chris," I experienced a thrill as I
realized she had addressed me by my
first name — with tenderness in her
voice. "Chris, if this should be the end,
I want you to know now how much I
have come to admire and respect you.
1 You are a man among men — a man will-
ing to fight and die for an ideal that he
holds sacred. Some day your people
will come to know what a sacrifice you
made so that worlds might live."

Emotion almost overcame me, but, I
managed to reply, "Princess, as long as
there is justice, we and our cause cannot
die." Then growing bolder, I contin-
ued. "A new world, a new life, a new
love has been given to me. And, if the
new love is never completely attainable,
I will fight through to victory so that
the remainder of my life may be spent
in her services."

Completely taken aback by the full
meaning of my remark, she hastily
withdrew the hand that I had seized
and with a murmured, "Chris, please,"
she ran from the room.

"A very pretty speech," a sneering
voice said. Whirling, I saw Relvon
standing at the other door and realized
that he had been listening all the time.

Hell may have no fury like a woman
scorned — except the fury of a man who
has been snooped upon while opening
his heart to the woman he loves. So,
the smack on the jaw that I gave Relvon

bounced his head against the wall with
a resounding thump and he slid to the
floor — out like a light.

"Here they come," several voices
cried. Looking through the porthole, I
saw the space raft from the Martian
warship nearing our own craft.

""VTOUR refusal to cooperate with us
won't do you one bit of good," the
Martian commander said. "It will only
force us to invade and smash the people
of Uranus. Play the game with us, and
we will not molest its people."

Princess Jonice, Janito and Tamura
all looked toward me so I took up the
conversation. "Whose word do we
have that Uranus will not be violated?"
I asked. "And, how do we know that
the promise will be kept?"

"My word should be sufficient," came
the sharp reply. "But, if it will make
you feel any better, I can tell you that
Hirohito himself has authorized the
proposition."

Desperately playing for time, I said,
"We would want that assurance directly
from Hirohito. We can make no deals
unless it be with someone that we know
has complete authority."

The Martian commander was about
to make an angry reply when the door
was thrown open and in walked the
scrawny, yellow Jap — dressed in the
uniform of Mars and wearing a chest of
medals. I had all I could do to keep
myself from smashing that grinning
mouth.

"A cozy gathering," was his opening
remark. "I trust that we shall have to
do nothing that will make any of our
distinguished visitors uncomfortable."

Then his eyes narrowed and his voice
chilled as he added, "We have no time
for useless conversation. Either you
agree to allow us to land a small army
of occupation while we are removing
sufficient Stulite for our needs, or we

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

shall destroy Uranus most completely.
Your answer, please."

I had purposely secured a seat facing
our own space ship so that it would be
possible for me to see the prearranged
signal that would signify that our com-
rades were ready for the next step that
would mean life or death for us. Just
as Hirohito had finished speaking, I saw
a light from our ship blink three times
in rapid succession — the signal that all
was in readiness and that the sup-
posedly disabled space rafts were being
launched, totally invisible against the
black hull of the ship, covered, rafts
and men, with black soot as they were.

I hoped that my face did not betray
my excitement as I tried to gain a few
moments time by saying, "Your propo-
sition is most attractive, but, will you
allow us a few moments to discuss the
matter between ourselves? After all, it
is a tremendous decision that we must
make — a decision involving millions of
people."

As I spoke I could see Janito sliding
toward the edge of his seat and I knew
that the alert young battler had also
caught the signal that was to set off the
fireworks.

Hirohito hesitated; then in clipped,
cold words, "Five minutes. .That is all.
You have no — "

His words came to an abrupt halt as
excited shouts and commands came
from all parts of the ship. The black-
ened men on the rafts had blown open
the air-lock doors and were storming
through.

TTIROHITO and the Martian com-
mander whirled toward the door at
the first commotion and Janito and I
went into action. He shot through the
air, feet first, catching the Martian
squarely in the back. As the two of
them went crashing to the floor, I was
within inches of Hirohito who already

had his ray gun half drawn. Smashing
down on his wrist with the open edge of
my hand, I sent the gun spinning across
the room. A left to the jaw, a crushing
right to the chin and another left for
good measure dropped him as if he had
been hit with an ax.

Turning to assist Janito, I saw that
he had completed his job quickly and
effectively. The Martian was stretched
out perfectly motionless in a sleep from
which he would never awaken. Janito
had blasted him with his own ray pistol.
Tamura and the Princess had backed
into a corner and a quick glance at
Jonice revealed a' white face and heav-
ing breast. I knew that she had had a
few bad minutes when her brother and
I started the attack.

Outside the cabin, the din had
reached a crescendo. Ray guns were
popping, clubs and other weapons could
be heard smashing against walls with
the duller thuds telling the story of the
clubs meeting flesh and bone.

Running over to Hirohito, I slapped
and shook him into consciousness. I
threw him into a chair and then dashed
cold water into his face to bring him out
of the fog.

"Switch on your P.A. system and tell
your men to lay down their arms," I
yelled. And as he sat, without moving,
I grabbed him by the collar and shook
him like the rat he was.

Shoving him down in front of the mi-
crophone, I pushed a ray gun in his face
and said, "You've got exactly ten sec-
onds to stop that fight or stop a blast
from this ray gun right in that pretty
face of yours. Now get going!"

I started to count and as I reached
eight, my finger tightened on the trig-
ger. He saw that I wasn't fooling and
threw open the communication switch.

With his eyes flashing wildly and the
perspiration running off him, he spoke
rapidly in the Martian language and

AMAZING STORIES

then in Japanese. Abruptly the noise
dwindled and then died away entirely.

The battle was over and our mad
scheme had succeeded.

Hirohito was our prisoner 1

T TOLD Janito to watch him and then

left the cabin to supervise the sur-
render and disarming of the rest of their
crew. I wasn't going to take any chance
of their pulling the same kind of stunt
that we had worked.

After making sure that the many
Martians and few Japs were completely
disarmed and securely locked up, I re-
turned to the cabin and found Janito
still sitting with the ray pistol trained
on our choice prisoner.

Jonice, her face wreathed in smiles,
arose from her chair to greet me.

"Chris, you were superb," she said.
"We all owe our lives to you."

At that moment, with her eyes smil-
ing happily at me, I would have given
most anything to take her in my arms
and feel her cheek against mine. But,
restraining myself, I modestly replied,
"We were fortunate that they became
careless. But, I'm afraid that our cas-
ualties were heavy."

Her face saddened. "Every life lost
is like a dagger in my heart, but, I know
that they had their choice; they would
have asked for no better ending to their
lives than to die in the defense of the
land they love."

Jonice paused, and through the open
door her eyes seemed to be seeking
someone in particular. "Where is
Lyonul? Certainly he will want to con-
gratulate you on your wonderful ac-
complishment."

"Here it comes," I thought. "She'll
really take me apart if I tell her that I
clouted that oily-tongued boy friend of
hers." I was wildly thinking of some
plausible excuse for Relvon's absence,
when—

"Chris ! Look out ! " yelled Janito.

Hirohito, taking advantage of a mo-
ment's carelessness on the part of Jani-
to, had snatched the ray gun. And, as
I ducked low, the bolt went over my
head and smashed into the wall. I
launched myself through the air in a
tackle that crashed him against the wall
and sent the gun clattering to the floor,
•but not before his second shot burned
through my shoulder.

A red haze of hate blinded me as my
fingers curled around the throat of this
oriental murderer. I could feel many
hands pulling at me as my fingers
gouged into his throat and I heard his
breath coming in gasps. He struck and
clawed at my face making the blood run
down, but my pressure did not relax an
iota until every ounce of breath and life
had been choked out of him.

Completely exhausted by emotion
and effort, I allowed friendly hands to
pull me from the body of the dead Hiro-
hito. Utterly worn out and with my
knees quivering, I turned to face my
friends.

If I had expected to receive praise
from the Princess for eliminating one of
her most dangerous enemies, I was
sadly mistaken. The look of horror on
her face was startling and in her eyes
was something akin to revulsion as she
cried, "Chris, Chris! Why must you
be so brutal? Has killing become so
much a part of your nature that vio-
lence must always control your brain
and hands?"

My energy was spent; my control
was gone and with the pain from my
shoulder coursing through my body like
liquid fire, I felt the room start to spin
and saw the faces in front of me start
to shift and blend together.

Hysterically, and with my voice
mounting with each throb of pain, I al-
most screamed, "Kill? Kill? What
did I kill? A beast, I tell you — a stink-

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

ing scavenger who never should have
been born.

"You've never seen the men who re-
turned from Bataan. You've never seen
the men out of his concentration camps.
You've never seen wounded, helpless
men, women, children massacred by his
hordes of savages.

"And now I'm brutal because I did
what any American would have given
ten years of his life to perform?
Well—"

But, now I was done in. Weakness
came over me in waves and the floor and
ceiling started to push together. The
room which had been slowly spinning
before, now started to whirl madly as a
curtain fell slowly over my eyes. Faint-
ly, as from miles away, I heard a voice
cry, "He's wounded!"

Then I mercifully blacked out.

CHAPTER V
The Army of Uranus

T AWAKENED surrounded by the
gleaming white of a hospital room.
Slowly at first, then more rapidly as my
mind cleared, the chain of events passed
in review before me. Then suddenly
realizing the urgency of time, I sat up
and a groan escaped me as pain flashed
through my shoulder.

"He's come out of it," a happy voice
said. Across the room I saw Janito and
Tamura VTitta.

Janito hastened to my bedside,
grasped my hand and said, "Chris, this
is the happiest moment I've had in five
days."

Tamura, who had followed at a more
leisurely pace, placed his hand upon my
shoulder.

"You had us worried for a few days,
my boy, but I knew that you were too
healthy a devil to let it keep you down."
I knew the welcome relief in his eyes
could only mean that the kindly old man

had been more than a little worried.

"Yes," added Janito, "You were sick
enough to rate plenty of attention. The
wound itself wasn't so bad, but you
kicked up a fever that would have
melted an iceberg."

"What about Princess Jonice," I
asked. "Has she been here?"

The answer came slowly from Janito
and I could see that something was
troubling him. "Yes, she's been here,
but, of course, you were unconscious."
He paused; then continued, "Look,
Chris, you've got yourself in rather a
jam with Jonice. I believe that she
finally saw the justice of your killing
Hirohito; however, I'm afraid that Lyo-
nul has painted a pretty black picture
of the beating you gave him on the
space ship. What actually happened?
If you'll tell me the story, I'm sure
Jonice will listen."

"Thanks, Janito, but it's something I
really prefer not to talk about. I prob-
ably should have controlled my temper,
but that guy just rubs me the wrong
way. It will probably straighten out
some day, but if it doesn't, well — " I
shrugged my good shoulder.

Abruptly changing the subject, I
asked, "When am I going to get out of
here? There are a million things to be
done and the time must be getting
short."

"Have a little patience," interjected
Tamura. "You are still very weak and
if you leave too soon, you will be back
here in a hurry. But, truthfully, the
doctors have said you can leave just as
soon as you are able to be up and walk
around a bit. After three days, I would
say."

r J" , HE three days dragged like an eter-
nity and there were only the visits
of Janito, Tamura and several others to
relieve the montony. Jonice did not
come again, nor did I receive a message

AMAZING STORIES

from her. That hurt me as nothing
ever did before.

The day I left the hospital, I asked
Janito to show me around the plants
manufacturing our fighting ships and to
take me on a tour of inspection of our
military forces.

The factories were a beehive of in-
dustry. They were turning out thou-
sands of the gleaming, metal fighters.
A surge of relief went through me as I
realized that I was to have at my dis-
posal the most deadly efficient weapons
that could be manufactured.

We visited the various fields where I
saw thousands of ships lined up and
ready for action. Janito, I had noticed,
had been strangely quiet when it
seemed that my enthusiasm should have
awakened a similar reaction in him.

Finally, when our tour had been com-
pleted and we were on the way back to
the palace, the reason for his unaccus-
tomed silence came out.

"I hated to build you up for a big let-
down," he said. "But, you must know
something before you get too optimis-
tic.

"We have plenty of fighting ships
and the facilities to manufacture them
in unceasing thousands. Better ships
than the Martians ever dreamed of,
even though not as large. Our ships are
constructed in one-tenth of their best
production time.

"But, we have just about one thou-
sand men who are capable of operating
them ! "

That was a body blow. Ships to burn
and a paltry force of a thousand men
to fly them. "So," I thought. "This is
the army of Uranus."

r J"'HE next few days were hectic ones
as I dug into files and records of
arms and ammunitions and attempted
to lay the skeleton outline of an army.
The task at times seemed almost hope-

less but I kept at it.

In my few leisure moments, I tried
many times to see Jonice. Never did
she allow me the opportunity of seeing
her alone. When I did see her, in the
presence of others, she was always po-
lite, always pleasant, but the warmth
was missing completely. She had re-
verted to the formal "Captain Lester."
Relvon had really done his work well.

After days of battling with the mili-
tary problems of Uranus, I came to a
desperate conclusion and requested Ta-
mura to call a meeting of the Council.

The Council chamber was filled to ca-
pacity, even the Princess Jonice was
present. Tamura quickly called the
meeting to order explaining at the same
time the meeting had been called to dis-
cuss military matters, and therefore the
progress of the business would be
turned over to me.

Arising from my chair, I plunged di-
rectly to the point.

"From a military viewpoint, our situ-
ation could not be worse. We have
ships to fly and no men to fly them. We
have guns that are unequaled and no
men to fire them. We have cities to
protect and no way to protect them.

"The enemy is powerful, has excel-
lent equipment and a large, well-trained
army. They have bided their time,
knowing our weakness. They are now
about ready to take the offensive.

"Gentlemen, to save Uranus, we must
attack the enemy at once!"

A storm of protest broke from all
sides and many remarks regarding my
sanity were hurled at me. Finally,
grabbing Tamura's gavel, I pounded
violently until a semblance of quiet was
restored.

"To wait for the enemy to attack," I
continued, "would amount to suicide.
We cannot hope to meet them on equal
terms once they launch their attack.
The only effective weapon we have is

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

the element of surprise. They are not
expecting an attack and will not be pre-
pared for it."

Once again a babble of voices started,
but quieting them with a sweep of my
hand and pounding the gavel, I went
on, "We must adopt a style of attack
similar to that used by the Allies in the
last war on Earth. With special forces
trained in the methods of destruction,
they landed at unexpected points, de-
stroying factories, power stations,
bridges and other vital points. This
sapped the strength of their enemies.

"Fortunately for us, most of the Mar-
tian factories are in a central industrial
district. If we are to defeat the enemy
it will have to be done on their own
ground, destroying their facilities for
manufacturing weapons of war. I,
therefore, propose to organize a com-
mando force to strike and defeat the
enemy before they invade Uranus. It
is a desperate chance--but, it is our
only chance."

The room was deathly silent as I
finished speaking and I could see that
at least I had convinced some of them
that the plan was plausible; that we
would stand no chance of victory if we
were to wait for the enemy to attack us.

Then, much to my surprise, Relvon
arose.

"Captain Lester has suggested the
only possible course open to us. Wait-
ing will bring certain defeat. To strike
now is our one possible chance."

T CERTAINLY had not expected
support from Relvon, but I must ad-
mit that he weighed the balance in my
favor. Many of them remained du-
bious, but for the most part they went
away convinced that surprise was our
only ally.

I remained in the Council room after
all had gone. I wanted to be alone, to
think over the rash plans to which I had

committed myself and a nation. The
responsibilities were heavy upon my
shoulders and no one save the youthful
Janito seemed capable of sharing them.

Deep in thought, I did not hear her
approach and was startled to hear
Jonice's voice, saying, "I thought I
would find you here, Chris. Today,
you looked so careworn, so fatigued,
and so alone that I could not resist
coming to you.

"Tell me, Chris, is there anything
that we, or I, can do to remove some of
the tremendous problems you are car-
rying with you?"

The nearness of her charged my
being with an intense longing. Could
I have but touched her hand, or the
lovely black hair that felt in soft waves
over her shoulders, I would have been
satisfied. But, even that I could not do.

"No, Princess Jonice," I replied. "I
only ask for your comradeship and un-
derstanding. I have done nothing that
should cause you to avoid me. As far
as Lyonul is concerned, I'm sorry for
what happened, but, I'm sure that any
spirited man would have done the same
thing under the same circumstances."

Her eyes were vaguely troubled as
she seated herself on a lounge and mo-
tioned me to sit beside her. Her voice
was soft and filled with emotion as she
commenced speaking. "I do not want
you to be hurt, Chris, anymore than
you have been already. Your actions
when I am near, the manner in which
you look at me and the way you speak,
tells me more clearly than words what
your heart feels for me."

There was no use of me denying what
was true, but, not wishing her to read
the thoughts that were probably mir-
rored too apparently in my eyes, I fas-
tened my gaze on the floor while she
continued speaking.

"I have come to admire you and re-
spect you for what you are. And in my

AMAZING STORIES

heart I know that I could never earn
the love of a finer man. But, Chris,
some things are just not meant to be."
She hesitated while she reached out her
hand to place it on mine; then went on.
"I am afraid that this is just one of
those things that is not meant to be.

"I am telling you these things now so
that when your work here is concluded,
there will be no bitterness between us
and so I will not be blaming myself for
something that could have been
avoided. Am I right, Chris?" she con-
cluded.

I arose and looked directly in her
eyes. "I can't give up as meekly as all
that. Anything that I've ever obtained
was only through my willingness to
fight for it. I'll fight for you in the
same manner, and, if I lose the battle,
I'll be a good sport about it. But, I will
go on fighting until then."

Gracefully retiring from the room,
she paused in the doorway and looking
over her shoulder at me commented,
"Now that you know, the fight can do
you no harm."

CHAPTER VII

The Hour Strikes

''JpHE following two weeks were the
busiest of my life.
The plans that I had prepared were
gone over time and time again. Weak-
nesses were eliminated and points al-
tered.

Five hundred ships, each carrying
one trained man and fifty raw recruits,
were to participate in the invasion.
Each ship commander was rehearsed
many times on the specific assignments
for his crew of commandos. Maps were
studied to the minutest details; photo-
graphs of landmarks and objectives
were scrutinized. At the end of a week,
the Martian industrial city of Thiol was

as familiar to them as the cities of Ura-
nus.

The invasion force was equipped with
our most destructive demolition weap-
ons and men schooled and drilled as in-
tensively in their uses as was possible in
two weeks. These men were the pick of
the Uranians; strong, spirited fellows
who took to their assignments as if they
had been practicing them for months in-
stead of just a few days.

Tamura, Relvon and even Janito in-
sisted that I was making a mistake by
limiting the size of the invasion fleet to
five hundred ships. They advanced
many arguments trying to convince me
that the entire weight of the effective
fleet should be thrown into the battle in
an attempt for a quick knock-out of the
Martian industries and battle fleet.

I had to admit that many of their ar-
guments were logical, but, I was playing
a hunch and keeping an ace up my
sleeve. The ace I would reveal only if
it became necessary. Finally, recogniz-
ing that their arguments were not sway-
ing me in the least, they gave up the ef-
forts.

The invasion fleet was to attack in
three waves from three directions with
Relvon leading one group; Lenti Roi-
tan, the fleet commander, heading the
second; and, of course, I would com-
mand the remaining division. Janito
was to be on my flagship, as second in
command of my group.

The night before the attack, I was
summoned to the private palace quar-
ters of Princess Jonice.

Her beauty was breathtaking that
night. As I entered her apartment, she
rose to greet me, extending both hands,
which I took in mine. She was dressed
in shimmering ivory matching the
creamy perfection of her skin and con-
trasting vividly with the deep, deep blue
of her eyes and the jet blackness of her
hair. I could do nothing but stare at

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

this vision of loveliness.

"Tomorrow will be a busy day for
you, Chris, and I know that I would
have little chance to see you.

"I know too well that the fate of
Uranus depends upon the success of the
invasion. I also know how little chance
there is of its success and of the fright-
ful loss of lives that our forces will suf-
fer. Oh! Chris," her voice faltered and
choked with emotion. "I pray that
your life will be spared and that this
horrible nightmare will soon be past."
Her eyes were swimming in tears as she
finished.

With far more confidence than I felt,
I tried to reassure her. "We will suc-
ceed because we must succeed. Even
if thousands of men fall, if my own life
is lost in the attempt, the sacrifice will
be worth while as millions of other hu-
mans will have been spared.

"But, in the event that this is a final
good-bye," and I hesitated a moment to
gather courage, "this is my way of say-
ing it — my way of saying I love you."
The next moment I had her in my arms,
her lips soft against mine.

For a few moments time stood still
while the pressure of her lips answered
mine and the warmth of her body caused
my heart to pound.

"So, my Princess, until we meet
again." As I stopped at the door for a
final glance at her, I saw that she was
weeping, her face buried in her hands.

CHAPTER VIII

Commandos to Mars

P"VERY preparation had been made.

The fleet was to take off at a care-
fully planned time and if everything
went as figured, we would be attacking
Mars' industrial city just as its dawn
was breaking.
I was sitting in my space ship cabin

going over the plans for the fiftieth time
when the buzzer on my visa screen
sounded. Throwing open the switch, I
saw Relvon in a hospital room, his leg
in a cast and his head swathed in ban-
dages.

"Good grief, man," I exclaimed.
"What's happened to you? What have
you done?"

"I had a nasty fall," Relvon replied.
"Tripped on a flight of steps. It looks
as if you will have to count me out,
Lester. I just don't have the strength
to get out of this bed. I know," he said
sincerely, "this puts you in a jam and I
would give anything if it hadn't hap-

"All right," I answered. "This makes
it a bit tougher, but we'll make out
okay. Take care of yourself." And I
broke the connection. I still didn't like
the man, but I did feel sorry for him
arid I had to admit to myself that he had
been cooperating in every way possible.

Who was I going to place in charge of
the third attacking force? Janito?
He's impulsive, but he's a fighter and a
leader and the men will follow him!
Fitting action to the thought, I called
for him immediately.

"Janito," I said as he entered the
cabin, "Relvon's had an accident.
Tripped on the stairs, he said. He's in
the hospital — a broken leg, I believe.
You'll have to take over his duties.
Think you can do it?"

Janito stared at me rather queerly
for a moment before replying. His an-
swer, however, was determined, confi-
dent. "Of course, Chris. I am just as
capable as Lyonul, and what's more,"
his hesitation gave emphasis to the
words, "I love a fight."

The implication of his words did not
click at the moment so I merely replied,
"Okay, fellow, the job is yours. You'd
better get set — we shove off in ten min-
utes."

AMAZING STORIES

He paused briefly to shake my hand
and then with a hearty, "Good luck,"
departed to board Relvon's ship.

A few last minute check-ups, a brief
word with the navigator and we were
ready to depart.

I flashed the pre-arranged signal, our
motors hummed into life and we
launched into space to be followed by
the rest of the fleet. The invasion of
Mars was under way.

A/TIDWAY between Mars and Ura-
nus, the fleet split into the three
divisions that were to make the attack.
At a given signal they changed direc-
tions and each task force went its sepa-
rate way.

The hours dragged. I paced my cabin
ceaselessly and inspected our equip-
ment at least ten times. It was the
waiting that was hard, that keyed my
nerves to the breaking point.

To pass the time more quickly, I
pored over the invasion maps time after
time. It was then that I came to a very
fortunate decision.

My map showed that the area over
which my force had to pass and land
was heavily fortified and thickly dotted
with enemy air fields. Of course, this
had been taken into consideration when
the plans were finally approved, but
now I thought I saw another route, a
longer one, but easier for the attack. If
we were to approach Mars from the
east, passing first over its immense des-
ert region, we could arrive at our ob-
jective without first passing over dozens
of Martian cities. Thus, we stood a bet-
ter chance of reaching there with my
force intact.

I instantly passed the word to the
navigator, contacted Janito and Lenti
Roitan on our directed wave transmit-
ter which made it impossible for the
enemy to intercept the message, inform-
ing them of the change in my route and

the time of the actual attack. Both of
them thought the idea was good.

I consulted my watch every few min-
utes and couldn't believe that the time
was moving so slowly. Finally, the
navigator entered and announced that
we were but an hour from our destina-
tion. I made one last tour of inspec-
tion, spoke a few encouraging words to
the men and then returned to my cabin
to again contact Janito and Roitan.

Their images flashed upon the screen
immediately and I had them repeat
their assignments just to be sure that
there would be no last minute slip-ups.
After breaking off the conversations, I
kept the visa screen trained on their
attacking units so that I would be able
to follow their progress every minute of
the time.

Just as the darkness started to lift,
we spotted the great wastes of the Mar-
tian desert. Simultaneously, Janito
and Roitan reported that they had
sighted their objectives. The big mo-
ment was at hand.

I knew that it would take us at least
a half-hour to pass over the desert and
reach our objective. Therefore, I glued
my eyes to the visa screen to watch the
opening shots by the ships of Janito and
Roitan.

I saw their ships pass over the Red
Ocean and with bated breath watched
as the fleets started preparations for the
bombing of the Martian flying fields.

Hell erupted. Before they could
reach their first bombing objective,
blasts from ray guns started to burst all
around them. Three ships in Janito's
command exploded; more were hit and
their noses turned toward the surface of
Mars. Roitan's group ran into the same
reception and ships were exploding or
hurtling earthward at a startling rate.

Suddenly the sky around them was
filled with hundreds of Martian fighting
ships. Through the visa screen I could

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

see that our ships were hopelessly out-
numbered. They had flown into a trap
and were being shot down like clay
pigeons.

But many of them had by this time
reached the initial objectives and
atomic demolition bombs started to
burst on Mars. Then the remaining
crafts started to hurtle earthward as the
landing areas came into sight.

For a brief moment Janito's image
appeared on the screen.

"It's a trap, Chris. They were ex-
pecting us. We'll give them all we can,
but it looks hopeless. See if you can
get out of this before it's too late."
Then his furrowed features broke into
a grin and he yelled, "But it's a hell of
a swell fight." His image vanished as
he broke the connection.

T DIDN'T have time to think about

his words because now our own ships
were descending rapidly. Our part of
the fight was about to begin. Beneath
us, our demolition bombs started to
burst and huge fires were breaking out.

Not a Martian ship had appeared to
challenge us. They had all been con-
centrated at the other points of attack
and at the point at which my unit was
supposed to have appeared. So, it was
a trap, and only the last minute change
in routes had prevented us from getting
the same terrific blasting. Thousands
of our men were dying because of a tip-
off. I ground my teeth in helpless rage.
How could they have known?

Our ship landed, and the men armed
to their teeth tumbled out the doors.
All around us the other ships were land-
ing and spilling men out in rapid suc-
cession. Now Martian fighting ships
appeared and men began to fall as
blasts from ray guns, and bombs, burst
around us.

The men sped to their various as-
signments. Huge explosions rocked the

earth and showers of steel and masonry
erupted into the sky. Martian soldiers
were now flooding out of small flying
transports and pitched battles were
being fought everywhere.

Slowly, still superior in numbers, we
fought our way into the central indus-
trial district and factory after factory
crumbled to ruins as the demolition
squads went into action. Some of our
ships which had not yet landed were
unloading hundreds of bombs which
were exploding with terrific concussion.

Men were falling all around me as
the Martians began to get reinforce-
ments. The advance continued, but our
losses were growing and the Martians
continued to arrive in an endless stream.
Smoke, flames, and explosions testified
that my men were fighting like demons
and that the men of Mars were going to
pay a high price for battle.

Then from the west I sighted the
remnants of Janito's fleet fighting their
way toward us. Roitan's men were
coming up from the south and tempo-
rarily the Martians were in a gigantic
pocket and they were falling like leaves
in a storm.

The vast industrial city was now a
mass of flames, but the fight was almost
over. The tide of the battle turned as
the Martians poured in reinforcements
and soon we were entirely ringed by
thousands of fresh Martian troops who
were pouring in their ray shots with
devastating effect. Our invasion force
had now dwindled to a mere handful
and we were about at the end of our
rope.

I'll never know how I escaped with
my life. A half-dozen times men in
front of me fell. Three times men
crossed in front of me taking a ray blast
that in each instance would have spelled
my finish.

The Martians were slowly pressing us
back against the river bank with their

AMAZINS STORIES

encircling troops coming in closer every
moment. Every place I looked I could
see dead soldiers, most of them being
the men of Uranus.

Suddenly I realized that further re-
sistance was futile, that I was subject-
ing my men to unnecessary slaughter.
We had destroyed what we could and
there wasn't a chance of breaking
through the Martian ranks to create
further havoc. There was nothing left
but surrender.

So, I gave the word and all up and
down my men ceased firing and laid
down their weapons. Stepping into the
open, I waved my white handkerchief
and the Martian firing slowly died
away.

A CONFERENCE seemed to be
going on between the Martian of-
ficers. Taking a few moments respite,
I walked among the men to praise them
for the amazing fight they had put up
against overwhelming odds.

"Chris!" I whirled as I recognized
Janito's voice and saw him on the
ground.

I went down on my knees beside him
and he whispered, "Is it all over, Chris?
Is there nothing else we can do?" What
a fighting spirit he had, still looking for
a way out, still wanting to fight with
a gaping ray wound through his side.

"It's all over, Janito," I answered.
"They've trapped us and we can't con-
tinue the fight with the few men that
we have left.

As I talked I was busy dressing his
wound, trying to stop the flow of blood.
"Our men were magnificent," I con-
tinued. "Their fight will never be for-
gotten by the people of Uranus and,"
I added significantly, "the Martians
will never forget it either."

"They were expecting us, Chris.
They were ready for us. Someone sold
us out and I know who it was. Oh,

what a fool I was not to have sus-
pected him." In his anger he started
to prop himself up on his elbow and
then sank back with a groan of pain.

"It was Relvon!" His voice was
choked with pain and anger but be con-
tinued: "He's fooled all of us. Listen
closely, Chris, because I'm getting
pretty weak."

He was fighting to retain conscious-
ness and for a moment or two I thought
he was going to black out, but he man-
aged to hang on and his voice became
a hoarse, tense whisper.

"He didn't want to take that space
trip to Earth and went only because
Jonice insisted. I thought that it was
because he was afraid — that he was a
coward."

Janito was gasping now and his face
had a deadly pallor but he did not spare
himself as he went on: "He knew our
ship was going to be attacked, but he
couldn't get out of the trip without
arousing suspicion."

His words began to come more
quickly as he felt his strength fading.
"His accident — all a fake. On my way
to the field — half hour before he called
you — I saw him go in the back entrance
of the hospital. He was walking—
without help.

"When you told me he had been
hurt, I knew that he was lying, but
again I thought that he was afraid to
fight— that's why I didn't say anything
to you. I just couldn't imagine he had
turned traitor.

"You've got to get out of this — you
must escape. You've got to warn our
people — you've got to kill Relvon. You
must save Uranus." His fighting spirit
finally failed, his body went limp and
he faded into merciful unconscious-
ness.

"You," a rough voice said as a heavy
hand clamped down on my shoulder.
"Come along with me and instruct your

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

men to stay as they are. Any suspi-
cious moves and we'll finish them off."

T GAVE my men a few instructions

and wearily followed the Martian
officer through the remnants of my in-
vasion army. My heart was heavy as
I saw death all around me.

I was stumbling along not caring
where I was being led when I was
roughly shoved inside a doorway. My
captor said, "This is where you stay."

Coming out of my daze, I looked
around and saw that I was inside a
Martian jail, a huge building heavily
barred and guarded. Quickly, I was
led to another officer, evidently one of
a higher rank. He barked, "Put him in
the cell with the other dogs."

I was led away into the inner regions
of the prison. We came to a stop in
front of a large cell in which I could
see a number of other prisoners. A
guard came, carrying a chain two or
three feet in length, with a handcuff on
each end. I started to protest as they
were being placed on my wrists and re-
ceived a stinging slap across the mouth
as my reply. The cell door was thrown
open and I was pushed in.

Immediately the other prisoners
started toward me and I saw that they
were all wearing the chains. Then
with a shock that almost staggered me
I saw that one of the prisoners was
General Hammond. I couldn't believe
my eyes. I couldn't understand how
the man who had acted so suspiciously
on Earth could possibly be a prisoner
on Mars.

I thought that if it hadn't been for
his pig-headedness neither he nor I
would be in our present plight and that
the United States would have already
been preparing for the attack that was
almost sure to come.

"So, General Hammond," I greeted
him, "my story was fantastic, was it?

Or, am I only dreaming that we are
on Mars and you and I are both pris-
oners in the same cell?"

His forehead creased in a puzzled
frown for a moment and then cleared as
he said, "Take it easy, Lester. I don't
know exactly what you're talking about,
but I have an idea that it is something
that I can explain quite easily."

"You can never explain," I heatedly
replied, "how an officer of the U. S.
Army — "

He cut in: "Look, Captain, I've been
up here a prisoner for almost a year.
Does that mean anything to you?"

"A year!" I exclaimed. "It wasn't
two months ago that you wanted to have
me courtmartialed for trying to warn
you about this. Now you try — "

Again he interrupted. "I see it now,
Lester. Look," and he indicated with
a sweep of his hand, "there are ten men
here, all officers of our army. And each
one of them has been replaced at his
post by a Martian. They are superb
masters of disguise — those devils — and
they've done it so effectively that even
these men's mothers wouldn't be able
to detect the deception. Does that ex-
plain everything?"

T WAS so stunned for a moment that
I could hardly talk, then I finally
managed to reply, "Good grief, Gen-
eral, it seems almost impossible, but if
what you say is true, then the United
States is in immediate and terrible dan-
ger. Why," I continued, "those im-
posters can knock the props right out
of all our defenses and the fight will
be over before it actually gets started."

"That's right," he agreed. "But
what can we do about it?"

"We've got to make a break and
make it quick — now. You have to get
back to Earth with the warning and
organize the army for the greatest bat-
tle in history. For, if Uranus falls, the

AMAZING STORIES

United States is next."

The General then introduced me to
the other officers and I quickly brought
them all up to date on what was hap-
pening. I told them about our attack
and how we had succeeded in doing
terrific damage in spite of the fact that
the Martians knew we were coming.

After an interchange of remarks, I
said, "If we don't get out of here to-
night, there is no use of getting out at
all. Uranus must be warned in a mat-
ter of hours."

No one made any suggestions and I
was quick to grasp the fact that if any
plans were made, I was going to have
to be the one to make them. I paced
back and forth and was growing des-
perate when the plan was finally born.
Another chance in a million, but it was
worth trying. Quickly I called the men
around me and explained.

Most of them were frankly skeptical,
but all agreed that they could suggest
nothing better. And as one of them put
it, "I'd rather die once now, than die
a million deaths waiting for them to in-
vade the United States."

Just then the cell door was thrown
open and several guards entered, one of
them beckoning to me and indicating
that I was to follow them.

CHAPTER IX
Hitler

"Y^fE PASSED through several corri-
dors and my eyes were busy regis-
tering every detail and noting the vari-
ous guard stations. We left the build-
ing and entered an adjoining one.

At last my escort stopped in front of
a door that was guarded by several
heavily armed Martians. A few quick
words from one of my guards and they
indicated that I was to enter the room
and wait. For what I was to wait, I

didn't have the faintest idea.

One of the door guards stayed in the
small room with me and all my efforts
to get him into a conversation went un-
heeded. So I just had to wait for the
unknown.

After what seemed hours, another
door was opened and again I was told
to pass through it.

Two men were seated at a table. I
had eyes only for one — Hitler. The
man who had murdered millions — the
man who wanted to murder more mil-
lions—was sitting in front of me and
I couldn't place a hand on him because
four guards were standing with ray guns
ready for action.

The second man at the table was
apparently a high-ranking Martian.
Later I found that he was the Martian
Emperor.

Hitler's eyes burned into me and I
could see that he was seething with
anger.

"So," he barked. "You are the
Yankee pig who led the attack on
Thiol?"

"Yankee pigs feasted well in Berlin,"
I replied. "What's the matter, Adolph,"
I continued, "are you looking for an-
other dose of the same Yankee medi-
cine?"

"Silence!" he thundered. "I'll have
your tongue cut out for another remark
like that."

Another nasty crack was on the tip
of my tongue but I caught myself when
the thought occurred that they might
throw me into a solitary cell and spoil
any hopes for escape ; So I decided to
play smart instead.

"Okay," I answered. "I'll be a good
little boy. What do you want from
me?"

"Information," Hitler replied. "How
many ships did you bring with you.
How many ships are left on Uranus?
Give me truthful answers and you will

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

receive decent treatment. If you co-
operate with us, you personally will
have nothing to fear from the New
Order."

"Still talking about the New Order,"
I thought. But aloud I replied, "All
right, I know when I'm licked. And
I'm smart enough to recognize that your
plans have gone too far to be balked by
a few unprepared nations. Here's what
you want to know."

I told him that five hundred ships
had attacked Mars, practically the en-
tire Uranian fleet. He seemed to swal-
low it, hook, line and sinker.

With the old Hitler ego he said, "It
will be only a few days and Uranus
will be completely smashed. In three
weeks I will be dictating the peace
terms."

I almost smiled when he said that, as
I recalled the similar promises he had
made to the German people about Mos-
cow and Stalingrad. "I hope history
repeats itself," I thought.

Hitler asked me a few more ques-
tions which I answered as evasively as
possible. He then ordered me returned
to the cell.

■VTIGHT was falling as the guards es-
corted me back to the cell. My
companions were already eating their
evening meal when I returned. While
I ate, plans for the escape were dis-
cussed.

The rest of the evening dragged
along and tension in the cell gradually
mounted as the men realized the hour
for the break was drawing near. At
last the lights went out and the Mar-
tian night guard took his station in
front of the door.

The men retired to their respective
cots and a blanket of silence fell over
the cell. B_ut, I knew the thoughts that
must have been running through their
minds as they realized that this meant

freedom — or death.

When I coughed twice-— the signal
that the fun was to begin — the fellow
on the cot next to mine began to moan;
softly at first and increasing in volume
with each breath.

By the light from the corridor I saw
the guard turn his head at the first
sound. Then as the moaning continued
he arose and peered into the cell.

"What's the matter in there?" he
called.

"This man is sick," I called back.
"You'd better take him out of here or
get someone to take care of him." With
bated breath I waited to see what the
guard would do.

With a muttered curse he unlocked
the barred door and swung it closed be-
hind him as he entered the cell. Thread-
ing his way past the cots in the semi-
gloom he approached our decoy.

"What's wrong with you?" he
growled as he stood over tie man's cot.
The answer came so low that it was
almost inaudible to me.

"Stop that groaning and speak so I
can hear you." As he said the words,
the guard unconsciously bent over the
man to catch the reply.

That was the moment the decoy had
been waiting for and like forked light-
ning his hands shot into the air and
the chain on his hands circled the
guard's throat. Instantly crossing his
hands in front of him he applied ter-
rific pressure on the guard's neck. A
frightened, choking gasp came from the
guard.

At the first action, I leaped from my
cot and pinned the guard's arms to his
side before he could reach for his ray
gun. The other men remained abso-
lutely quiet on their cots as any con-
centrated attack would have made
enough racket to bring the other guards
down on our heads.

Rapidly the guard's struggles grew

AMAZINS STORIES

weaker and finally he went limp as life
left him. Pressure on the chain was
maintained for a few extra moments
just to make sure that the job was com-
plete.

Slowly, quietly, the body was allowed
to sink to the floor. Then taking the
keys from his pocket I rapidly removed
the chains from my wrists and then un-
locked the handcuffs from the decoy.

"Boy, when we get back to Earth
I'll hire you as my chief bodyguard," I
whispered to him in jocular praise. His
only reply was a sickly sort of a grin
and I knew that the nasty job he had
accomplished was not sitting any too
well.

QUICKLY I passed among the men,
removing their chains and caution-
ing them to remain just as they were
until we were ready for the next step.
Although quick action was necessary,
one hasty move would upset the apple-
cart.

One of the others, acting according
to plan, had already removed his own
clothes and was now replacing them
with the ones stripped from the guard.
As soon as he had finished, he stepped
outside the cell and seated himself in
the chair that had been occupied by the
guard.

I knew that around the bend in the
corridor two more guards were sta-
tioned and that another guard would be
found outside the door that sealed off
the corridor from the exit. If we could
dispose of those guards, our next ob-
jective was the general sleeping quar-
ters of the other prison guards.

Whispering to the men to remain si-
lent, I left the cell and joined the fake
guard. Proceeding according to plan
he began walking rapidly down the cor-
ridor, deliberately scuffling his feet so
that the other Martian guards would be
certain to hear him. I was sure that

they would suspect nothing if they
heard someone approaching them in an
ordinary manner. I followed him
closely.

As he rounded the corner of the cor-
ridor, one of the other two guards
called, "You'd better get back to your
post before — " He never finished his
words as the ray gun taken from the
dead guard in our cell sent a perfectly
aimed blast through his head. His com-
panion never had a chance — a ray bolt
crashing through his skull before his
hand had darted even half-way to his
gun.

"Good going, fellow," I whispered.
"Now we've got to get those uniforms
off them."

This grisly job was completed quick-
ly and he hurried back to the cell with
the uniforms while I stood guard in the
corridor in the event that another guard
happened along.

Soon I heard the muffled noises of my
fellow prisoners approaching and as
they rounded the corner there were
three of them dressed in Martian uni-
forms with ray guns swinging in readi-
ness in their hands.

Rapidly and quietly we neared the
solid iron door which was now the only
barrier between us and the sleeping
quarters of the prison staff. Nerves
were tensed with suppressed excite-
ment and by the desperate energy re-
flected in the faces of the men, I knew
that it was going to take a lot of Mar-
tians to stop our dash for freedom.

The solid, heavy door was bolted
from the outside, but I hesitated for
only a second before rapping briskly on
it with the butt of a gun.

"What do you want?" was the
muffled query.

"One of the prisoners just got some
kind of a fit, and we're bringing him
out," I shouted back.

Immediately I heard the rasping of

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

the steel bolt and the door swung open.
The guard had barely time to make
more than a startled exclamation be-
fore he was swarmed under by a half-
dozen husky Yanks. And they com-
pleted the job with usual Yankee thor-
oughness.

The next step which we had antici-
pated as the worst proved to be the easi-
est, but the grimest.

The door to the sleeping barracks
was completely unguarded and a quick
glance revealed fifteen Martian sol-
diers asleep. No mercy would have
been granted had we been discovered —
and no mercy was shown. The fifteen
men soon were fifteen corpses and nbt
one of them ever knew what had hap-
pened.

The balance of us then donned Mar-
tian uniforms, opened the door leading
to the outside and unchallenged passed
several groups of Martian soldiers
standing in front of the building.

'"PHE havoc of the day's battle was
apparent. Fires, still out of con-
trol, were burning fiercely. Dead and
wounded were still being removed from
the streets; and in the fields beyond
we saw huge numbers of damaged and
destroyed Uranian and Martian fight-
ing ships. Rapidly we walked toward
the ships, stopping now and then to
bend over a soldier or making pretenses
of other types of inspections.

A small, but rapid type of Uranian
ship that did not seem badly damaged
caught my eye and we casually made
our way toward it. While the others
paused in front of the ship apparently
engaged in earnest conversation, I
jumped aboard and praying harder than
I ever had in my life, made a quick
check-up. Everything seemed okay,
but knowing little about the machinery,
I could only hope for the best.

Signaling to the others, I waited im-

patiently while one by one they casu-
ally detached themselves from the group
and sauntered aboard.

At last they were all in their places
and with a fervent last-minute prayer,
I threw the switch all the way open
and was almost thrown to the floor as
the motor charged into life and the ship
hurtled into space.

Pursuit was impossible as the void
swallowed us. We had completely
fooled the Martians and were on our
way to Uranus.

CHAPTER X
Untriumphant Return

A FTER the first wild rush of exulta-
tion had passed and mutual con-
gratulations were flung back and forth,
the reaction set in. Waves of weariness
surged through me and my hands lay
listlessly on the controls of the ship.
I had been without sleep for almost
twenty-four hours and was at the point
of exhaustion.

The disastrous news that I had to
report gave me a hollow sensation and
I didn't know how I was going to tell
Jonice about Janito. I knew that she
would prefer him dead than in the hands
of the Martians, but I could not even
give her that slim measure of comfort.
Janito had still been living when I was
forced to leave him.

Then like a flash the thought of Rel-
von entered my mind. Weariness was
forgotten as rage burned through my
body. My hands trembled with an
eagerness to be at his throat as I
thought of the thousands of Uranians
that had paid with their lives for his
treachery. Relvon was going to pay
dearly, too.

General Hammond and his men were
jubilant. The thought of returning to
the States and exposing the Martian

AMAZING STORIES

plot had filled them with a new zest. I
was mightily relieved that the United
States would now have time to prepare
for the invasion in the event that Ura-
nus fell. But they could not prepare
in time to come to our assistance.

Then the moment I had been putting
off became imperative. I had to con-
tact Uranus and tell the details of our
defeat.

I set the automatic pilot and made
my way to the radio room. I could
have used the hook-up in the pilot
cabin, but too many of the men were
crowding in and out. And, I wanted
some privacy for the conversation.

For a few moments I debated who on
Uranus I should contact and then de-
cided that Tamura Vlitta was the logi-
cal choice. I rapidly made the neces-
sary adjustments on the transmitter and
then set the flash signal going. I kept
my eyes glued to the visa screen as I
did not want to talk to anyone other
than Tamura. If he was not there at
the time and anyone else answered the
signal, it was my intention to break the
connection.

But in a few moments the visage of
Tamura appeared on the screen.

"/^HRISl Chris, my boy. Where are
you? What has happened? Every-
one here has been nearly mad with
anxiety. Tell me quickly, is the news
good or bad?"

The lines of worry were deeply
etched upon the old fellow's face and
I knew that the news I was going to
give him would make him heartsick.
But it had to be done and I gave it to
him as briefly as possible. I did not
tell him about Relvon. Not because I
did not trust him, but merely because
the man was so frank and honest that
I doubt if he could disguise his feelings
and keep silent in the event that he
met Relvon before we arrived.

"Tamura," I concluded. "You are
to say nothing to anyone about our
return. It is vitally important that not
a soul learn of our escape until we ar-
rive."

I could see the words of protest shape
themselves upon his lips, so I hastily
interjected, "Tamura, please believe me
— all is not lost. I frankly did not ex-
pect this defeat, but I did prepare for
it. Therefore I assure you it fs urgent
that you maintain a complete silence."

He agreed, but I could see that the
old man was terribly shaken and that
he felt Uranus was doomed. Well,
maybe it was, but not before Hitler and
the Martians paid a terrible price for
victory.

The rest of the trip was completely
uneventful. Despite the fact that I
felt pretty nearly dead from lack of
sleep, I had to stay at the controls as I
was the only one aboard who under-
stood the operations of the ship and
space navigation. Whenever I felt that
sleep was about to overcome me, I had
only to think of Relvon to bring my-
self back to wakefulness.

I had told Tamura that we would
land at a certain out-of-the-way field
and requested that he meet us there.
Just as dawn was beginning to break,
the field was sighted and I landed the
ship on its very outskirts. Tamura had
sighted us as we were circling for the
landing and had hurried across the field
to embrace me as I stepped through the
door.

Quickly I introduced Tamura to the
American officers and proceeded to the
palace. We entered a little used en-
trance and went to my quarters.

My return to Uranus in the cold,
bleak dawn was anything but a tri-
umphant reception.

T TOLD Tamura how urgent it was
that the American officers return to

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

earth immediately and he promised that
a space ship would be in readiness to
leave that afternoon.

Then drawing Tamura into a small
side-room, I asked him, "You have told
no one of my return?"

"Not a single person, Chris. But
why such complete secrecy?"

"I have good reasons, Tamura, as
you will find out later. Right now it
is important that I get a few hours
rest so I will be in condition for the
Council meeting you are going to call
for this afternoon."

"For what purpose, Chris?"

"For the purpose in which we are all
vitally interested — that of saving
Uranus. Time is the most important
factor, Tamura, and we cannot delay
—it would be fatal."

Tamura shrugged his shoulders. "All
right, Chris. My confidence in you is
still strong, but I guess it is just typical
of the aged that makes them question
instead of seeking action."

I placed my arm around his shoul-
ders. "Retain your confidence in me
just a bit longer, Tamura. And now,
I have just one more favor to ask of
you." I hesitated as his eyes searched
mine and then resumed, "See that the
Council members gather in a large room
of the hospital in which Relvon is con-
fined. It is important to my plans that
Relvon be there for the meeting."

"But his injuries — " Tamura pro-
tested.

"I don't believe that his injuries will
prevent him from attending. Please,
Tamura, do as I ask you and you will
soon see what will happen."

A puzzled frown creased his brow
and I could see the confusion in his
eyes, but, he merely nodded his head,
patted my hand and departed.

As soon as he had left, I crossed the
room, opened the switch on the visa
screen and in a few moments faced the

image of Haley Rol, who was second
in command to Lenti Roitan. His chin
dropped in astonishment when my own
visage was reflected upon his screen.

"Captain Lester! We had given up
hope. What has happened? Where is
the fleet? What—"

"This is no time for questions Haley.
Prepare for action on the attack plan
that we discussed. Recall all men to
their stations, cancel all leaves. The
fleet departs for Mars at sunset."

I saw excitement fill his face and cau-
tioned, "Haley, you've got to keep your
wits about you. If you fall down on
the job, Uranus falls with you. And
what's more, you are not to tell any-
one that I have returned, nor are you
to divulge the destination of the fleet.
Understand, Haley?"

"Perfectly, Captain. You can depend
on it that your orders will be followed."

"Good," I responded. "If you should
want me for anything it will have to
keep because you will be unable to con-
tact me for some time. Make the de-
cisions yourself, Haley. You can do
it." Then I broke the connection.

A/TY NERVES were so taut that I
found it impossible to snatch the
rest that I needed so badly. I wan-
dered into the sleeping quarters of my
fellow Americans in the hopes that some
of them might be awake. It was futile,
as they were all sound asleep and I
didn't want to awaken them.

I paced my suite waiting impatiently
for the Council meeting and kept my
mind occupied by going over each step
in the plan that meant victory or slavery
for Uranus.

Finally the time arrived and once
again I went to my fellow Earthmen
to bid them goodbye. General Ham-
mond and several others were already
awake, so I told them their departure
plans, wished them luck and left for

AMAZING STORIES

my meeting with the Council and —
Relvon.

I slipped out of the palace as unob-
trusively as possible, but was seen by
several people. I didn't particularly
care since the news would soon be
public property.

Arriving at the hospital, I stationed
myself in a remote, dark corner where
I could command a view of the entrance.
One by one the Council members
started to appear and soon they were
all there except Tamura and Jonice.

As I saw them approaching, I walked
toward the door to be there to greet
them when they entered.

Tamura saw me almost immediately,
but Jonice had almost passed me by
when she came to a startled stop. Her
look of blank astonishment turned to
genuine relief.

"Chris!" she exclaimed. "You have
come back."

I was too filled with mingled emo-
tions to reply and could only stand and
gaze at her.

Tamura gave us both a long, search-
ing glance and then left us saying some-
thing that I'm sure neither one of us
heard. I may be mistaken, but I could
swear that he winked at me as he
passed.

Without a word I took Jonice's hand
and led her to my little, dark corner.
I opened my arms and she came
quickly, willingly. For a few moments
I forgot my weariness and the bitter-
ness of defeat. And as my lips found
hers the aching longing that had been
in my heart was stilled.

The moments were all too brief when
with a little sob she gently pushed me
away.

"Chris, my dear," she said, and her
eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"This is madness. We must not hurt
each other by giving way to our emo-
tions. You must remain the soldier,

Chris, and I must remain the Princess."

"Why is it madness, Jonice? Is it
wrong for two people to love each
other? Oh, can't ycu see that you are
allowing your mind to rule your heart?"

Her little hand sought mine and her
troubled eyes fastened themselves on
my face. "If it were only that simple,"
she said. "I must be brutally frank
with you, Chris, and I know that it is
going to hurt you."

"My marriage to Lyonul was pro-
posed by the Council. They regard him
as a natural leader and because of his
popularity with the people of Uranus,
they would not look with favor upon
another choice."

"That's so much bunk, Jonice," I
angrily replied. "Marriages, my sweet,
are not in a council chamber."

And then I added in a grimmer tone,
"And, perhaps the Council will soon
change its mind about Lyonul."

^X7TTH an evident desire to change
the subject, she said, "We have
forgotten the most important thing. I
know the news must be bad, Chris,
otherwise there would have been little
need for all this secrecy. Tell me every-
thing. I can stand the bad news better
than the suspense."

While we strolled slowly toward the
meeting room, I told her the whole story
of the fight and hesitated only when I
had to tell her about Janito. She was
game to the core and beyond a slight
tremble in her chin and the quivering
of her lips she took it like a soldier.

"And is this the end, Chris? Is the
fight for Uranus all over?"

There was no accusation in her voice;
no questioning of my tactics; only a
pity for the people whom she thought
would soon be living under the yoke
and whip.

"No, Jonice," I replied. "I think this
is only the beginning. That's the reason

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

we have assembled the Council. For
the sake of the people and the country
you love, support whatever I say at this
meeting."

I knew from the look that she gave
me that there would be no question of
her support.

Then we stepped into the Council
meeting. The babble of voices died to
a sudden silence as the Council mem-
bers stared at me.

Tamura did not give them time to
start throwing individual questions. He
promptly called the meeting to order.

I sat staring at Relvon who was com-
fortaby seated in a wheel chair, his leg
in a cast and his head still tightly
bandaged. Then I was sure that Janito
had been correct for the man looked
far too healthy, his color too good, to
have been the victim of an accident
that was bad enough to give him such
injuries.

Tamura was a wise and kind man.
He relieved me of the task of reciting
the events of the defeat and gave a
glowing account of the damages we had
inflicted upon the Martians. Then he
asked me to take over the meeting.

"Gentlemen," I started, "the fight
is far from over. We have lost every
man of the invasion force. We have
lost every ship that participated. But
we haven't yet lost the battle.

"Hitler believes that practically our
entire fleet was destroyed. I made sure
that he got that impression..

"Therefore, we must use immediately
the one trick that I have kept in reserve.
We must strike now — tonight with an-
other invasion fleet that is ready to de-
part on a moment's notice. Even Hitler
will not suspect that we could muster
enough power to strike again so quickly.

"This time we will concentrate on
knocking out their space fleet. We have
destroyed a great deal of their manu-
facturing facilities and if we are suc-

cessful in this attempt, they will never
be able to recover from the blow."

I waited while the expected storm
started blowing about my head. Many
of them were convinced we were as
good as defeated and there was no
point of again sacrificing thousands of
lives. I patiently waited hoping the
storm would abate, but it continued,
even gained strength.

Finally Relvon's voice made itself
heard above the rest. "I am again
forced to agree with Captain Lester.
It is our only chance and even if it fails
we will have done enough damage to
further delay the Martian attack on
Earth. It will give them time to pre-
pare their industry for an offensive that
will crush the Martian threat to civili-
zation." He stopped and glared around
the room as if he were daring anyone
to challenge his logic.

It was sound thinking I had to agree
and its effect on the Council produced
an amazing effect. But, Relvon had
stepped right into my trap and I was
all set to spring it.

"'JpHANK you for your support,
Lyonul," I said. "I'm sure that all
our Council members must agree with
you.

"And to show you how grateful I am
for your encouragement and support, I
am going to give you the honor of com-
manding the first ship that will land
upon Martian soil."

Relvon blanched and gave me a star-
tled glance. "But, that is impossible.
I am in no condition to command a
fighting ship."

I walked off the platform from which
I had been speaking and slowly ap-
proached Relvon. My eyes did not
leave his as I progressed the length
of the room. As I had left the plat-
form, I could see from the tense atti-
tude of Tamura that he expected some-

AMAZINS STORIES

thing to happen.

Stopping in front of Relvon I said,
"Take off that cast."

"Have you gone completely mad,
Lester? My leg is fractured."

My blood had reached the boiling
point and I knew that it was going to
be impossible for me to keep my hands
off the treacherous snake.

The others had gathered around in
astonished wonderment and Jonice, still
on the platform was standing on tip-
toe with alarmed concern written all
over her face.

"Relvon," I grated between clenched
teeth, "I am going to call in a doctor
to remove that cast. Any objections?"

With a loud curse he lifted himself
awkwardly from the chair and in his
hand was a ray pistol that he had magic-
ally produced from underneath the
blanket that had been covering his legs.

"Everyone back," he roared. "Up
against the wall."

As the Council members backed
slowly to the wall, he kicked savagely
against a desk with his cast-heavy leg.
The cast shattered almost magically,
fell in fragments to the floor. Then he
turned to me with a fiendish grin.

"You are pretty smart, Lester, but
not smart enough. I give you credit
for seeing through my game, but you
made one very bad mistake.

"You forgot that when the Martians
found out about your escape that it was
possible for them to inform me about
it by radio. That was very stupid,
Lester, for a military genius." His voice
and words dripped contempt.

At the moment I wished that the
ground would open and swallow me.
Even a ten-year-old boy would have
thought of that and now we faced dis-
aster because I had blundered.

"I am going to kill you, Lester," he
continued. "You have gotten in my
way once too often. If you have any-

thing to say, you had better say it now
as I am leaving in a moment. And,
when I leave, you'll be dead!"

'Y'HE GLEAM in his eyes told me
that the man was mad with hatred
and that the finger trembling upon the
trigger would soon send a ray bolt burn-
ing into me.

But, everyone had forgotten Tamura.
Standing slightly to the side he was not
in direct view of Relvon. Unobserved
he picked up a thick book and now with
a sudden motion he hurled it at Relvon.
Relvon caught the motion out of the
corner of his eye and whirling to meet
what he thought was an attack, pre-
sented a perfect target for a hard right
hand smash to the jaw. He got it and
went tumbling to the floor— with me
right on top of him.

I made a lucky grab and caught hold
of his gun hand and exerting every bit
of strength I had started to bend it
back. Relvon fought like the mad man
he was. His free hand beat savagely
against my head and face and time
after time his knee came up into my
stomach.

Finally with a violent jerk he hurled
me to one side and scrambled to his
feet. But, before he had time to level
the gun, I was back at him. With
both hands I grabbed his gun hand
despite the terrific punishment I was
taking from his free hand. Slowly, I
forced his wrist back, trying desperately
to swing the muzzle toward his own
body.

My strength was ebbing rapidly from
the rapid blows and with a mighty last
effort I succeeded in 'bending his wrist
completely. With a howl of pain and
terror from the danger he recognized
he gave one convulsive jerk of his hand.
That was his last moment of life.

His own finger pulled the trigger that
sent a ray bolt burning into him. His

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

whole body stiffened, then slid to the
floor^dead.

Exhausted and breathing heavily
from the tremendous effort, and the
punishment that I had taken, I glanced
around the circle of Council members.
Blank astonishment was still written on
every face and they seemed rooted to
the spots on which they were standing.

Jonice was a picture of frozen horror.
Her eyes were wide and staring as if
she could not comprehend what she had
just witnessed. I started to walk to-
ward her — and then, with a gasp, she
turned and fled from the room.

I was about to follow her when a
hand was laid on my shoulder. It was
Tamura.

"Let her go, Chris. The shock was
too much for her. And, your greatest
battle is yet to be fought."

My head still reeling from the fight
and the rapid movement of events, I
stumbled from the room without an-
other word.

CHAPTER XI
Return to Mars

■\X7"HEN I reached the field, all was
in readiness for the invasion.
Haley Rol had done his work well.

Haley had seen me approaching and
walked forward to meet me. We pro-
ceeded immediately to my ship 'to which
Haley quickly summoned all the squad-
ron leaders.

This time our plan of attack was to
be entirely different. The fleet was to
split up into a series of squadrons, each
one attacking a different Martian field.
The object was complete destruction
of the Martian fleet.

Little time was wasted in prelimi-
naries. When I was sure that each
squadron leader knew exactly the point
he was to attack, I sent them back to

their own ships with instructions that
the fleet would take-off in ten minutes.

Everything would have to move with
the precision of clock-work. We had
to strike hard and fast and in typical
commando fashion; all surviving men
and ships were to withdraw exactly one
hour after the start of the attack.

Without further ceremony, I flashed
the signal and one after another the
battle craft of Uranus plunged into
space.

I knew that I was going to require
some rest to stand up under the ordeal
that was to come, so leaving instructions
to be awakened when within two hours
of Mars, I threw myself on a couch and
fell into the first sleep that I had had
in more than two days.

It seemed that I had just closed my
eyes when I was awakened by a violent
shaking.

"Two hours from our objective, sir."
It was the navigator and I realized with
a shock that I had been asleep for close
to six hours.

Feeling greatly refreshed, I imme-
diately contacted the various squadron
leaders to see that they were all in readi-
ness and that all ships had so far made
the journey safely.

As I walked through my ship and
into the galley to obtain a bite to eat,
I felt the quiet air of determined con-
fidence that seemed to prevail in every
man. Their conversations were casual,
but, in each one, I could see the eager-
ness and urge to get into battle. A
cheerful salutation was on each pair of
lips as I passed.

The men of Uranus were prepared
to fight — and die.

HPHE dash through space had been
timed perfectly. Just as darkness
was beginning to lift, the Martian land-
scape became visible and our own ob-
jective came into view. We were at-

AMAZING STORIES

tacking the space ship field nearest to
Hitler's headquarters.
- The nose of the ship tipped steeply
and suddenly and the first demolition
bombs went crashing into hangars and
barracks.

Not a Martian ship was in the air
to greet us. They had really been
caught with their pants down.

Fires were springing up as it by magic
and violent explosions sent wreckage
hurtling skyward. Miles away, on each
side of our ship, I could see other fires
raging and I knew that the other por-
tions of the fleet had planted their
bombs of revenge.

Time after time our ships circled the
attack area and new explosions were
sending blankets of smoke soaring up-
ward.

Now a few Martian ships were com-
ing up to challenge us, but they were
being knocked out of the air like clay
pigeons. But more kept coming and
soon the air was filled with ships flash-
ing over and under us and ray guns
vomiting discharges of death.

Broken ships, Martian and Uranian
went spinning to the ground or ex-
ploded in mid-air. My ship was struck
several times, but, never in a vital spot.
We kept plunging into combat while
our gunners exacted a terrific toll from
the enemy. We were not escaping un-
scathed, as I saw many of our men
lying dead or wounded on the floor of
the ship.

Rapidly the battle swung to our favor
and then according to plan, a group of
ships, mine included, went into a steep
landing glide, while the others remained
aloft to give us coverage.

Volley after volley of ray bolts
poured into our ranks as we spilled out
of the ships, but, never once did my men
falter. Straight into the face of the
most intense firing they marched, fir-
ing their guns as rapidly as they could

pull the triggers.

The solid front of the Martian troops
gave way under the relentless attack
and then they broke into a panic-strick-
en retreat as we drew into close quar-
ters. The Martians had no appetite for
this kind of fighting.

The resistance that met us at the edge
of the space ship field was smashed by
a determined charge and with jubilant
yells, the men began to apply the torch
and send ray bolts crashing into the
hangars that were still standing.

Up above, the battle was still raging
and I could see that the Martian space
fleet had again received reinforcements.
Probably from a field that was unknown
to us and therefore, not charged for
attack. But the newer ships and more
powerful ray guns of Uranus were blast-
ing the Martian ships out of the sky.
We were suffering, too, because as I
looked I saw some of our ships falter
in flight and then plunge earthward to
a final landing.

Although our ranks had thinned, the
men were still fighting with a fury that
was sweeping the Martians before them.
Then from out the smoke and flames,
I saw the administration building — Hit-
ler's headquarters I

D ALLYING a few hundred men
around me, each begrimmed with
sweat, dirt and blood, we started the
onslaught. The men had tasted victory
and were not to be stopped. Yelling
like a band of wild Indians they quick-
ly closed in on the building and the
Martian defenders were soon destroyed.
And, in just a few minutes we stood tri-
umphantly in front of our objective.

I took a handful of men with me, the
other men surrounding the building so
that not even a fly could have passed
undetected.

Praying that the skunk was still
there, that he had had no opportunity

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

to escape, we entered the building and
started the search. The few Martians
that were inside offered no resistance,
just stood and stared at us dumbly as
we passed.

Room after room was searched and I
was beginning to curse the fates that
had permitted him to slip through our
fingers. Suddenly, an excited yell echoed
through the corridor.

"There he is I" Swinging around in
the direction of the call, I saw a Uran-
ian soldier pointing into a small room
at the other end of the long hall.

The blood roared into my head and
my hands began to tremble as I realized
that the end was in sight. Victory, and
Hitler dead! I was determined that
never again would he become a prisoner
of war.

Motioning the men away, I entered
the room and closed the door behind me.
And, there on the floor still trying vain-
ly to conceal himself under a desk was
the very unheroic figure of Adolf Hitler.

"This is it, Adolf," I said. "Your
little party is all over and it's time for
you to take a nice, long nap. That is,"
I added, "If there's any such thing as
sleep in Hell."

Slowly, quaking with fear and his
face the color of putty, he came out of
his hiding place and dragged himself
to a standing position. His eyes were
watering, his chin quivering — a pretty
picture was the father of the New Or-
der. A contemptuous hatred filled me
as I gazed upon the murderer of mil-
lions.

I placed the ray gun I was holding
on the table and then drew my other
one from my belt.

Pointing to the one on the table, I
said, "Use it yourself, Adolf, or a fir-
ing squad will do the work for you."
I started to back out of the room and
then concluded, "And that's more of a
break than you ever gave anyone."

Still keeping the gun pointed at him,
I backed out the door and then mo-
tioned the Uranian men who were clus-
tered about to move out of range of the
door. If Hitler tried any mad last
tricks, I didn't want any of my men to
get hurt.

I listened intently for a few moments
and as I heard nothing, I was on the
point of kicking the door back when the
sullen, deadened plop of a ray gun
sounded from the room.

Cautiously kicking the door open, I
peeped in and saw him stretched on
the floor, a ray wound through his head.

The mad beast was dead by his own
hand. There was something satisfying
in that.

As I turned to lead my men from the
building, a faint roaring started in my
head and I became conscious of a biting
pain in my shoulder. I suddenly dis-
covered that the old wound had been
opened in my shoulder, probably by a
glancing ray bolt.

I needed air badly and got out of the
building as fast as my shaking legs
would carry me.

All the fighting had ceased and sur-
vivors of our fleet circled victoriously
in the air.

That was the last I remember be-
cause a black wave of unconsciousness
engulfed me.

CHAPTER XII

The Last Ship

T CAME to in the now familiar sur-
roundings of a hospital room.

Sitting on my right was the ever faith-
ful Tamura. And, on my left, the hand-
some Janito.

"Janitol" I yelled. "How did you
get here?"

Totally absorbed in some papers he
had been reading, he all but fell off his

AMAZING STORIES

chair at the sound of my voice. Ta-
mura, after a visible start, just sat there,
his old wrinkled face a blanket of
smiles.

"Chris, you old softie," Janito said
as he grasped my hand. "We've been
sitting here for a week waiting for you
to sit up and take notice.

"A week?" I echoed. "How long
have I been here? What about your
own wound? How did you get here?
What about the battle on Mars?"

"One question at a time," laughed
Tamura. Then he added, "You better
tell him everything, Janito, before his
curiosity gives him a relapse."

Janito taking up the thread of con-
versation said, "You blacked out on
Mars. Remember, Chris?"

As I nodded in assent, he continued,
"Well, your men brought you back and
for two weeks, you were more dead
than alive."

"But, my wound wasn't a bad one,"
I protested. "It was only a shoulder
wound, and I didn't even realize when
it happened."

"It wasn't the wound that caused the
trouble," Janito replied. "You were
suffering from complete exhaustion and
they could not check the fever. But
when you started to mend, you came out
of it very quickly.

"A band of our men found me in one
of their prison hospitals and brought
me back, too." He grinned. "I guess
my young hide is just too tough for an
ordinary ray gun."

"Janito, I know that we must have
been successful, or we wouldn't be here
talking together. But, tell me, did we
knock them out completely?"

"Completely, Chris. They haven't
enough ships left to attack a good-sized
formation of ducks. And we're going to
police them so that they will never again
have an opportunity to build a war ma-
chine."

"Uranus owes you a debt that she will
never be able to repay," Tamura inter-
jected. "Without you, Chris, Uranus
would now be a shambles."

I was saved the embarrassment of
further compliments when the door
swung open and Jonice walked in.

Without another word, Janito, with a
wise grin, and Tamura, with a knowing
smile, arose from their chairs and
walked out.

"Hello, Chris."

"Jonice." I didn't want to talk. I
just wanted to look at her — the most
beautiful woman that I had ever known.

Quickly she crossed the room and
took both of my hands in hers. I thrilled
to the core, just as I always did when-
ever she touched me.

"Chris, I am completely happy now.
You are almost well; the fighting is
finished; and Uranus has been saved.
It is all over, now."

"It is not all over, Jonice. For us
it is just the start. The start of some-
thing that I felt the very first time I
saw you."

Slowly, sadly she shook her head.
"No, Chris, it cannot be. I tried to
warn you of that long ago.

"I prayed that this wouldn't happen.
For my part I tried to fight against the
emotions I felt every time I saw you.
But it did not work, Chris. I love you
just as you love me. And, now we are
both going to be terribly hurt."

"But, Jonice," I protested, "I thought
that Relvon was the only stumbling
block. Well, he's — "

"I know, Chris. But, still it cannot
be". Let me try to explain."

gHE had been standing all this while
and she then drew a chair close to
the side of the bed. Again her hand
stole into mine.

She continued: "You must return to
your own, Chris. You would never

WAR CRIMINALS OF RENAULT ISLAND

be completely happy here. The people
are different. Our customs are different
and you would soon yearn for your old
friends and the free, easy ways of the
Earth peoples."

"That is so silly, Jonice. For good-
ness' sake, with the space ships that
Uranus has developed, travel and com-
merce between the earth and Uranus
will soon be a daily event."

"That's just what I am trying to tell
you cannot happen.

"Listen," she continued, "while you
were lying here ill, the Uranian Coun-
cil passed a law specifying that there
must be no commerce or migration be-
tween Earth and Uranus."

I started to give a heated reply, but
she silenced me with a slight pressure
on my hand.

"Please believe, Chris, when I say
that they really believed they were do-
ing the right thing, and, in a large
measure I had to agree with them.

"So much greed exists on Earth.
There are so many men that would
stop at nothing to gain wealth or power.
There will be more men like Hitler and
Hirohito — and more wars.

"We do not want even a single germ
of greed or treason to again blight our
civilization. There you have the reason,
Chris."

Turning, she glanced out the window.
Then, pointing, she said, "Look. Do
you see that single space ship in that
field beyond the hospital?"

As I nodded, she continued: "That is
the last space ship that exists on Ura-
nus.

"Fifty ships returned from the Mar-
tian invasion, Chris. We have destroyed
the other forty-nine. The one remain-
ing will return you to earth and then
be destroyed after it brings its crew
back to Uranus."

"All right, Jonice. Is that the way
you want it?"

"Not the way I want it, my dear.
It is just the way it will have to be."

^FTER several more days I was well
and strong enough to leave the hos-
pital.

I spent most of my time in the com-
pany of Janito and Tamura, taking in
the sights that I had been too busy to
observe before. They were very weak
substitutes for Jonice, whom I longed
for every moment of the time.

Jonice and I saw each other frequent-
ly, but never alone. That would have
been bad although many times I felt
like throwing discretion to the winds
and holding her in my arms just once
again. I knew by the way in which she
looked at me that her suffering was as
great as my own.

Finally the day of departure dawned.

A great crowd was around the field
to witness the take-off. And the cheers
that greeted me as I put in my appear-
ance told me that I would never be for-
gotten by the people of Uranus.

The state officials including Tamura,
Janito and others of the Supreme Coun-
cil were assembled on an elevated plat-
form close by the space ship that was
to carry me back to Earth. Its crew
was drawn about the platform as a
guard of honor.

I felt all eyes upon me as I walked
up to the ship's port. But, my eyes
were only for Jonice. She was nowhere
visible.

I heard not a word of the many
speeches and was only dimly conscious
of the medal that was pinned upon my
chest.

Then with a roll of the drums, the
honor guard came to attention. With a
supreme effort I started the walk up
the steps and into the space ship.

For a long time after the ship passed
into space, I sat staring out of the port
at the receding bulk of Uranus. Then I

AMAZING STORIES

heard a sound behind me. I turned,
then gasped.
"Jonke!"

"Yes," she said simply.

I was floundering in bewilderment
and surprise. "But how . . . what . . .?"

"A long time ago, while observing a
certain woman on Earth through our
television, a significant phrase became
as much a part of our Uranian life as

it is of Earth's.

" 'Whither thou goest, so go V was
what that woman said."

I got tremblingly to my feet, folded
her slim form into my arms as she came
willingly forward.

"They are beautiful words," I said
tenderly. "The most beautiful words
that have ever been spoken."

THE END

VIGNETTES OF FAMOUS SCIENTISTS

^^By ALEXANDER BLADE

This famous chemist was the co-dlscoverer of the chemical
constant known as the "atomic heat figure" of all elements

PIERRE LOUIS DULONG, French chemist
and physicist, was born at Rouen, France,
on February 12 (or 13), 1785. After acting
as assistant to Eerthollet, he became successively
professor of chemistry at the faculty of sciences
and the normal and veterinary schools at Alfort,
and then in 1820 professor of physics at the Ecole
Polytechnique, of which he was appointed director
in 1830. In 1823 he was elected a member of the
French Academy of Sciences. He died in Paris
on July 18, 1838.

In 1811 he discovered nitrogen trichloride; dur-
ing his experiments serious explosions occurred
twice, and he lost an eye, besides sustaining severe
injuries to his hand. He also investigated the oxy-
gen compounds of phosphorus and nitrogen, and
was one of the first to hold the hydrogen theory
of acids.

Dulong's important research work in physics
was on heat and was carried out in conjunction
with Alexis Therese Petit (1791-1820), the profes-
sor of physics at the Ecole Polytechnique. In
1815 they made the first accurate comparisons be-
tween the mercury and the air thermometer. The
first published research, 1816, dealt with the dilata-
tion of solids, liquids and gases and with the exact
measurement of temperature, and it was followed
by one in 1817 in which they showed that New-
ton's law of cooling was only true for small dif-
ferences in temperature; and one in 1818 on the
measurement of temperature and the transference
of heat, which was crowned by the French Acad-
emy.

Dulong is chiefly known in connection with the
physical law which, in collaboration with Petit,
they discovered, and which is known as the Dulong

and Petit law. It runs as follows:

"The product of the specific heat of any ele-
ment, when in the solid state, and its atomic
weight, is (approximately) a constant."

The inference from this law— which is uni-
versally accepted, but not yet explained— is that
the atomic heat of all the elementary substances
is practically identical.

Each of 92 elements that have so far been dis-
covered, has a property which is called its atomic
weight. It is expressed by a number, which may
either be a whole one, or one with a fraction.

Thus, the atomic weight of oxygen being called
16 for the purpose of establishing a unit, that of
carbon is 12; of gold 199.2; of lead 207; and of
uranium 238. These figures represent the rela-
tive weight (not the actual) as compared with
that of the unit element oxygen, of the smallest
amount of each that is capable of existing as a
fixed quantity in a chemical compound or, as it
is called, the atom.

Common table salt is a compound of the metal
sodium with the gas chlorine, and is expressed in
the language of the chemist by the symbol "NaCl";
in which the "Na" stands for the sodium (formerly
known as natron) and the "CI" for chlorine. The
union of the two is expressed numerically v. by
adding together the atomic weights of sodium (23)
and chlorine (35.5), making the atomic weight of
the compound 58.5. Pure water, which is a com-
pound of the two gases hydrogen and oxygen, is
symbolically expressed as "HiO," and numbericaJly
by the figure 18, which is the sum of 2 unit weights
of hydrogen and 16, the unit weight of oxygen.

Another property, possessed by all the elements,
is known as their specific heat, by which is meant

VIGNETTES OF FAMOUS SCIENTISTS

the amount of heat required to raise the tempera-
ture of any one of them one degree Centigrade
under certain specified conditions. This is differ-
ent for each of the elements, but has a much
smaller range of values. Thus the specific heat
of hydrogen— lightest element — is 3.4090, while
that of platinum — heaviest — is 0.032.

Dulong and Petit's discovery was to the effect
that if the atomic weight figure of any element
is multiplied by its specific heat figure, the product
in all cases will be approximately a constant, that
is, an identical figure. It is 6.4 and is called the

atomic heat figure.

In 1830, Dulong published a research, under-
taken with Arago. for the academy of sciences, on
the elasticity of steam at high temperatures. In
his last paper, published posthumously in 1838,
Dulong gave an account of experiments made to
determine the heat development in a chemical reac-
tion, together with the description of the calori-
meter he employed. He was so badly supplied
with apparatus that he spent practically all his
wealth in providing what was necessary for his
researches.

Developer of kinetic theory of gases and molecular mathematics

LUDWIG BOLTZMANN, Austrian physicist
was born in Vienna on February 14, 1844.
' He was educated at Linz and then at Vien-
na, where he obtained his doctorate in 1867 and
was appointed assistant in the Physical Institute
of the university. In 1876 he was appointed pro-
fessor at Graz where he stayed until 1891, when
he went to Munich. He held the appointment of
Professor of Physics at Vienna, except for a short
period in 1904 when he went to Leipzig, from
1895 until September 5, 1906 when he committed
suicide at Duino."

Boltzmann's most important work was on mole-
cular mathematical physics; and on the develop-
ment of the Kinetic theory of gases.

The molecule is defined as the smallest particle
of any given kind of matter which retains the
properties of the whole of it; as, for example, a
molecule of water, of sulphur, of table salt. In
the first and last of these instances the molecules
are compounds in each case of two elements, into
which they can be readily resolved by purely
chemical methods; whereupon, their appearances
and properties as water and salt disappear, and
they then give evidence of their presence by ex-
hibiting the appearance and properties of those
elements (hydrogen, oxygen, sodium and chlorine)
into which they have been decomposed. But sul-
phur is itself an element, and its molecule consists
ordinarily of a union of two of its atoms, but
under certain conditions may consist of six or even
eight of them. Thus, if the sulphur molecule is
broken up it still remains as sulphur.

Molecules of all kinds, and under normal con-
ditions, are constantly in motion. Those of a gas
move back and forth in rectilinear paths which
are long as compared with their size, and were
it not for the gravitative action of the earth they
would fiy off into space and disappear. The length
of their paths is determined by the number of
them existing in any given volume, which varies
in the case of each known gas, and also with the
external pressure under which it may be.

In liquids the molecules move about in all sorts
of ways, very much like those of a bunch of live

angle worms, and so are able to conform them-
selves — as a mass- to the shape of the vessel in
which the liquid is contained.

In a solid they are believed to be pressed so
closely together that a new force—that of cohesion
—comes into play. Cohesion is perhaps simply
another word for the gravitative action which,
according to the Newtonian laws of matter, every
particle exerts on every other particle. These
particles in a solid mass cohere so firmly that
more or less force is required to separate them.
Nevertheless, even then, it is believed that each
molecule is in a state of intense vibratory motion
back and forth along an infinitely minute path.
If the temperature of the mass rises, these paths
become a little longer, and exhibit the change of
condition by the phenomenon of expansion. On
the other hand, decrease of temperature results in
contraction, as the effect of the shortening of these
paths. At the absolute zero of temperature it is
believed that all vibratory motion ceases.

It was into the field of these phenomena that
Boltzmann, equipped with high mathematical abil-
ity, made deep exploration, using data already
well demonstrated in the science of mechanics to
light his path. For a time it was thought that
he had secured some results of importance. But
since the announcement of the quantum theory
of Planck these expectations are not so strong, and
some revision appears to be inevitable.

Boltzmann's first paper, published in the Wiener
Berichte (1866), was on the second law of thermo-
dynamics; this was followed by three papers (1868,
1872 and 1892) on the partition of energy. These
papers attempted to put on a more satisfactory
basis the work started by Maxwell; the second
paper contained what is now known as Boltz-
mann's H-theorem; and in 1877 he began to ap-
ply the theory of probability to it.

Boltzmann wrote a number of papers on the
integration of the equations of molecular motion,
on viscosity and diffusion of gases, on Maxwell's
electromagnetic theory and on Hertz's experiments.
He also gave a theoretical proof of Stefan's law
for the energy radiated by a black-body.

THE MAP OF FATE

By Cpl. DONALD BERN

nrait "'Wife

TOMORROW morning's papers
will carry news of events that
will startle and brighten the
world. Two hours ago I stuck the map
pins, the little green-headed map pins,
into Sergeant Garry's map of the world,
and now I am waiting for the dawn with
an eagerness that makes me tremble,
waiting for news of the great victory.
Besides me, on a crude table con-
structed out of boxes, are the green and
brown map pins, and the maps, that
Garry used in this part of Guinea when
the Japs were so close we could smell
them.

We were a small company of Ameri-
cans ordered into the Gaiato area to
protect an advanced base. We had our
position on the side of a small ridge.
The Japs held all the thick jungle ter-
rain south of us. That is, all but one
small trail up which our supplies
reached us. For a month the Japs had

been trying to take this lifeline, know-
ing we would then be cut off completely.

One morning, after a particularly
heated battle, Sergeant Garry crawled
up to my foxhole. Japs hidden in the
jungle below whipped a few shots at
him. The bullets made a nasty whining
sound.

"What's up?" I asked nervously. I
could see the worry on Garry's thin,
mud-smeared face. His blood-shot eyes
met mine.

"The Japs got up Eagle Peak last
night," he breathed.

It hit me hard.

"Eagle Peak!" I croaked. "Hell,
they can lob shells across at us . . ."

Garry nodded, scraping his pointed
chin on the soggy ground. "That's
right," he muttered soberly. "I don't
see how they did it — Anyway the cap-
tain's going to take a gander at the
map. Care to come along?"

WITHOUT these carefully mark,
ed maps Yanks might walk into
traps — so they had to be right!
But were they?

It wal * craiy thing to do; but I stuck a groan pin on Jap-held Eagle Peak
73

AMAZING STORIES

My jaw dropped a little at that.
Leaving the foxhole was taking un-
necessary risks — people got killed that
way — but puttering around with Gar-
ry's maps was my main diversion. Gar-
ry, as operations sergeant, was in charge
of various maps. Maps of the immedi-
ate fighting zone. Maps of Europe,
Asia and the world. He used green map
pins to indicate allied territory and
brown ones to show where the enemy
stood. I found it extremely interesting
to move these pins day after day as bat-
tle lines shifted.

"Go ahead, I'll follow you," I replied
to Garry's invitation.

T WAITED until the sergeant had
moved off about ten yards and then
squirmed out of my foxhole and wrig-
gled over the soggy earth to the com-
mand post. The command post was
just another hole in the ground, fairly
large, with a camouflage ceiling of green
shrubs. With a grunt I slipped into the
small opening after Garry.

Captain Hanely, his lean back to us,
was bent over a map tacked to a thin
wooden frame. It was evident from the
slight gestures he made that something
puzzled him. He muttered, "Damn!"
under his breath and spun about to face
us. A gray stubble of beard covered
his face; his eyes were red-rimmed and
tired.

"Garry," he said softly, coldly,
"someone's been in here and fooled with
this map." Suddenly, his attention
switched to me. "Cramer, did you
move any pins?"

I gulped. "No sir. Not for a few
days, anyway."

"What's the trouble, sir?" Garry in-
quired.

"It beats me!" Captain Hanely ex-
ploded. "I can't figure it out!" He
pulled a handkerchief from his pocket
and wiped the streaming perspiration

from his face. I guessed he was choos-
ing his next words. Slowly he stuffed
the damp handkerchief away in his
pocket.

"Look," he began, "none of our men
could have known the Japs took over
Eagle Peak. Even I didn't know until
five minutes ago. Yet someone has al-
ready moved a Jap pin over Eagle Peak
on the map! Now how the hell could
that have happened?"

His eyes darted back and forth be-
tween Garry and me. I stood stupidly,
my lips hanging open a little. My heart
was thudding heavily. Our silence
seemed to infuriate him. His thin lips
jerked a moment before the words came
out, "Probably just a silly error on your
part, Garry. If you're going to be care-
less with these pins you might just as
well move them blindfolded!" With a
quick, vicious motion he snatched a
brown-headed pin from its small card-
board box and jabbed it vigorously into
the map. "You can go now!" he or-
dered.

At the exit I stopped a moment and
looked back. The Jap pin seemed to
quiver on the map.

Outside, I asked Garry how he fig-
ured it. He shook his head helplessly.
"Forget it," he muttered. Which I at
once proceeded to do. Some Japs had
spotted us and thought we were clay
pigeons. On all fours I scrambled to
my foxhole and dived in. Sometimes
only the quick survive. I pumped a
few shots into the jungle for luck and
then opened a can of rations which I
consumed with a few swallows of hot
water from my canteen. The firing
settled down to an occasional sporadic
burst.

'JpHE following day started out very
much like its predecessor. Dawn
brought a renewal of activity on both
sides. It was just before noon that the

THE MAP OF FATE

really bad news became known to us.
The Japs had finally cut our only sup-
ply line. They were firmly entrenched
on both sides of the trail and nothing
could get through. The men looked at
each other with dead eyes. This was
what we had been afraid of, and it had
come true. I saw Garry slithering over
the ground to the command post and
decided to follow him.

Captain Hanely sat with a very
peculiar expression on his face. He
looked up at Garry. "Sergeant," his
voice jerked oddly, "the identical thing
has happened again. Someone has al-
ready moved a Jap pin to cover the trail.
Whoever it is seems to know in advance
just what the Japs are going to do!"

Garry gaped but was silent. I
thought back a moment. "Sir . . ."
I began, "if you'll recall, you jabbed a
Jap pin into the map yesterday, left it
there. It may be that quite by chance,
you placed it on the trail. . . ."

Captain Hanely stared at me. "A
coincidence, eh?"

"Yes sir."

"Well, maybe so," the captain ad-
mitted. He stood up, went to the map.
"We're in one hell of a situation, men,"
he sighed. "We've got enough rations
on hand for another day. After that
. . . well, figure it out yourself." He
ran a finger over the detailed map. Our
position on the ridge was indicated by
a green pin. The enemy was directly
below us and in position to outflank any
attack we might decide to make.

Captain Hanely was still staring at
the map when Garry and I quietly stole
out.

TT'S no fun fighting Japs and its worse
on an empty stomach. We took stock
of what rations we had and decided that
by doing a whole lot of stretching we
could make it last three days.
Bean, of communications, slapped me

on the back and laughed shrilly. "Well,
what are you fellows so sour about?
That's almost a can of rations a day for
us. Things may improve in three
days!"

"We'll probably be a lot hungrier," I
muttered darkly. A rifle cracked some-
where in the jungle and I ducked in-
voluntarily. Garry pitched forward on
his face and lay sprawled. I crawled to
his side, turned him over carefully. His
eyes stared at me blankly. Timothy,
the medics man, hurried up and made a
quick examination.

"He's dead. It got him smack over
the heart."

"He's lucky; he's luckyl" Bean
chanted eerily.

I hit him on the side of the face.
"Shut up, damn you!" I said hoarsely.

"Get back to your foxholes," Cap-
tain Hanely rasped, "you know better
than to bunch together like this!"

We scattered.

According to plan, we consumed our
rations over a three-day period, but tie
third day found us weak and starved.
The Japs, knowing our situation, were
prepared to wait for us to make a break,
then mow us down.

That night I slowly munched on the
last hard biscuit I had carefully stored
away. Ants had shared the biscuit with
me but that didn't matter. The air was
heavy and damp, difficult to breathe.
My eyes hurt from peering into the
darkness. At times like this a man will
do a lot of thinking. A lot of desperate
thinking. I. don't know what made me
think of the pins again, but suddenly in
my feverish mind certain things became
clear. Startling clear, so that I trem-
bled with the knowledge that had sud-
denly become mine.

Should I go to Captain Hanely and
tell him what I knew? No, he would
think me . . . insane. I decided to see
the thing through myself. Quickly

AMAZING STORIES

then I finished the biscuit, wriggled out
of my filthy abode and made my way
back to the command post.

TN DOING this I took the risk of be-
ing shot at by our own men. At
night, anything that moved might be a
Jap and worth taking a shot at. I kept
close to the ground, careful not to make
a sound.

As I had anticipated, the command
post was deserted. I crept inside, cov-
ered the opening carefully with a piece
of canvas, struck a match. It flared
weirdly against the earth walls. I
stepped to the map and without hesita-
tion removed the Jap pin stuck over our
supply line. Then I retreated to my
foxhole to wait for the morning.

I was not surprised when the dawn
revealed that the Japs had abandoned
the area. The jungle was silent and de-
void of Japs. Supplies could be brought
in.

"This is the best break yet," Cap-
tain Hanely muttered aloud, "but I
can't for the life of me see why they
would pull out just when they had us
cornered."

"The important thing, sir, is that they
did pull out!" Bean said fervently.

Captain Hanely smiled and shook his
head. "It will always be a mystery to
me," he said.

I heard all this and smiled to myself.
Later in the day supplies were brought
up and we ate like lions. It was no
longer necessary 'to stay crouched in
foxholes. Gradually the fever that had
possessed my brain left and I laughed
at myself for my insane action the night
before. Oh, I had been crazy to think
that merely removing the pin could in-
fluence the Japs! It was only a coin-
cidence that the Japs had pulled out
... as I had pulled the Jap pin out
of the map. A coincidence, nothing
more.

But I could not help thinking about

it.

In several days the map and the pins
drew me as a magnet. I waited until
the captain had left and then entered
the command post. I was alone. I saw
that Captain Hanely had placed addi-
tional maps on wooden frames. These
had been propped up against the earth
walls. A map of the world covered one
entire side.

However, my attention was directed
to one map alone. The map. I could
not get my eyes from it. Should I again
attempt this madness? Once and for
all, quiet those little voices in me that
whispered of the impossible — that
would have me believe in the unbeliev-
able?

I made my decision, picked up a
green pin, hesitated a moment and then
placed it over a position allied forces
had been endeavoring vainly to take
for a month. Port Naguro. Here the
Japs were concentrated in numbers
large enough to beat off all attacks. I
made certain the pin was secure, then
guiltily left the command post. Captain
Hanely met me outside.

"Cramer!" he rasped. His eyes
stared into mine. Was he going to ques-
tion me on further peculiarities con-
cerning the map? Had he noticed that
the Jap pin had been removed from the
trail previous to the actual Jap with-
drawal?

"Yes sir?" I choked.

"We need an operations sergeant. Do
you think you can fill the job?"

"I'll try, sir," I replied.

Twelve hours later news came over
the radio of the capture of Port Naguro.
Details were as yet obscure, but in a
surprise attack the Japs had been
smashed and the port taken.

As I write this now, the camp is
asleep except for a handful of guards.
I am alone in the command post, amidst

THE MAP OF FATE

Sergeant Garry's maps. Two hours
ago I stuck two green pins, allied pins,
into Sergeant Garry's map of the world:
One in Berlin and the other in Tokio.

Now I am waiting with an eagerness
that makes me tremble, waiting for the
dawn and the news of events that will
startle and brighten the world.

WHAT ARE OUR CHANCES
FOR

LONGER LIFE?

DURING most of history, progress toward a
longer life has been slow, but the trend has
not retrogressed. In the United States, be-
tween 1930 and 1940, four years were added to
our length of life. Today the average American
can expect to live almost 64 years, compared with
the average of under 30 for India, 48 in Japan and
5S in Italy. America's expectancy of 64 years
is topped only by New Zealand and Australia.

In ancient Rome the expectation of life at birth
was probably under 25 years; pestilence, famine,
war and the harsh servitude of the masses led to
heavy mortality. By 1SS0, in America, the aver-
age had increased to a little more than 40 years.

Then came the modern sanitary era. Advances
in medicine and public health curbed the terrible
diseases of cholera, diphtheria, tuberculosis and
typhoid, and set up systems of protection over
water and milk supplies. As a result, the expecta-
tion of life in the United States by 1900 had ad-
vanced to about SO years. The 14 years added
since that date are the result of an intensive ap-
plication of our knowledge of disease prevention,
and a general and profound improvement in the
standard of living.

At least one year would be added to the aver-
age length of life if we could solve the cancer prob-
lem, another year if we could achieve control of
heart and circulatory impairments in middle life.

There are wide possibilities in a new field —
the growing knowledge of nutrition. Research in-
dicates that what we eat may have an important
influence on our length of life. As the result of
experimenting with the diets of pregnant women,
it is entirely possible that proper prenatal feeding
will save the lives of many thousands of infants
and launch them into a healthier childhood. Child
feeding is now practically an exact science. This
knowledge, along with control of infections, is
largely responsible for the fact that infant mortal-
ity is only a small fraction of what it was two
or three decades ago; while for children under IS
years of age the death rate is 60 percent less than
in 1920.

A tremendous contribution which the science of
nutrition has made to a longer life is found in the
statement by Professor Henry Sherman of Colum-
bia: "A generous surplus of calcium results in

better development of the young and a longer lease
of what we may call the prime of life — the pe-
riod between maturity and old age." This is but
one example of what the new science of nutrition
is doing to increase our vitality and thereby our
average length of life.
Science may still have another approach to the
extension. It has to do with the
the endocrine gland. Recent in-
vestigations show that such malfunctions appear
to increase as we grow older. However we are
hoping that our knowledge of the endocrine func-
tions might give us a measure of control over the
aging process, since glandular deficiencies may
often be treated by administering the appropri-
ate hormone.

The value of hormone therapy has been dem-
onstrated in the modem treatment of diabetes, a
disease which usually results from a deficiency of
insulin, a hormone of the pancreas. There are
about 600,000 diabetics who, thanks largely to
insulin, not only live longer but live more abund-
antly than pre-insulin diabetics. A generation ago
most diabetic children died within a year of the
onset of the disease. Today, according to records,
the diabetic child of ten may expect to live an-
other 40 years.

In suming up, modern science offers the promise
of, first, greater vitality and longer life through
correct nutrition. Secondly, by correcting dis-
turbances in the chemistry of our bodies, our
whole concept of the prime of life may be changed
and we may be able to carry the activities of our
prime years well into old age.

By every means, continued investigation of med-
ical problems which are still unsolved, such as
cancer and the processes that lead to degenera-
tion of the heart and blood vessels, must be en-
couraged. An individuals interested in life pro-
longation, we should submit to regular medical
checkup. And our medical examinations should
include a critical review of our diets.

We all want to enjoy as long a period of ac-
tivity as possible— and for this, science is now
providing the means more generously than ever. If
we use them, an average length of life of 70 years,
even of 75, is not a mirage; it can be a fact in a
generation.— C. S. Rice.

A Most

THERE exists no pioblem that logic cannot solve! was the
German's boast— until he entered this Cretan cave

SCHLAGEL stumbled up the
beach, spitting out curses and
cold salt water with every step.
He stumbled again, lost his balance,
and fell face down in the rough sand,
gasping for breath. Schlagel knew that
he must stay there in the sand until his
strength grew enough so that he could

divest himself of his rubber life jacket
and make his way back to headquar-
ters with the information about the
British convoy.

"Fooi, fool, fool!" Schlagel's inner
mind seemed to be reviling him for the
overconftdence he had shown in his
battle with the Spitfire.

Ingenious Paradox

By GEORGE TASHMAN

"If you had only turned and run, plenty of time."
instead of showing fight with that ver- Schlagel turned over, groaning from
dammt British swine! If you had only exhaustion, and struggled to a sitting
stopped to think that the information position. He started to undo the fas-
was of much more use to the Fuehrer teners on his life jacket, but the work
than one more dead Britisher! But no, was slow, tedious. His fingers seemed
you fool, you had to go after the glory, to have turned to thumbs. Finally,
after the medals! Ah well, there is still having mastered the garment, he

AMAZING STORIES

shrugged his shoulders out of the
jacket, and rose.

With nervous, jerky motions, Schla-
gel shook the sand out of his hair,
rubbed his face briskly and looked
about him. He had no idea of where
he was except for the fact that he was
probably on one of the smaller islands
in the Agean Sea.

His mind seemed to be talking to him
again. "Well, fool, don't just stand
there! Did the Fuehrer stand thus at
Munich in 1923? Action! That is the
watchword. Find one of these Greek
slaves and make him take you to an
outpost — to a radio station. That in-
formation must get through! If the
convoy reaches Alexandria, the British
will have the supplies to start their
counter-attack against Rommel. Move,
Schlagel, move ! "

Schlagel started up the beach. After
all, if this was an island, it must have
boats. And if it had boats, it must have
harbors. And if it had harbors, it must
have towns. And if it had towns, it
must have people. And wherever there
were these Greek slaves, there were
also masters. And who were the mas-
ters but the German Army?

Oh yes, thought Schlagel, it was all
very logical.

Logic was one of the things which
Leutnant Schlagel had learned well at
the University. Logic was what ran
the earth, the universe. Logic was
what the German Armies used— logic
and a little intuition, of course.

And it was logic that told Leutnant
Schlagel he must not stand around mus-
ing, but that he must move, move,
move. Schlagel started walking up the
beach at long, easy lope. Logic, that
was it, thought Schlagel. How else
could he move so easily, so rapidly,
were it not for his fine body, his excel-
lent physique? And was it not logical
thinking on the part of the Fuehrer

which had given him these manly at-
tributes? How could one hope to be
a member of the Uebcrmenschen, the
super race, if one did not have a fine
body? Those days in the gymnasium
were long days, and hard days, but now
they were beginning to pay dividends.

Suddenly Schlagel drew up quickly.
He sniffed the air, much as a pointer
sniffs when he scents the prey. A smile
broke over the Leutnant' s face. Smoke !
Where there was smoke, there must be
fire. And where there was fire, there
must be man. A perfectly logical de-
duction.

gLOWLY now, Schlagel moved up
the beach. He must sneak up on
these fools, surprise them. After all,
it is the element of surprise which wins
many battles.

"Now," said Schlagel's inner mind,
"just around that next sand dune, and
I will be well on my way."

Schlagel dropped to a crouch, and
slowly, oh, so slowly and so silently,
crept around the dune. Chagrin and
dismay covered his Nordic counte-
nance. No one was there! But the
odor of the smoke still filled his nos-
trils! There must be someone here!
Schlagel's eyes rapidly covered the
beach ahead of him. Rapidly, but log-
ically, looking as far as they could,
peering into every depression in the
sand. Then his eyes turned to the
cliffs to the right. More slowly now,
eyes narrowed almost to slits, squint-
ing, he covered every square inch of
those cliffs until — ah! there it was. A
small crack in those granite walls!

Again Schlagel crouched, crept the
three or four hundred yards to the
crevasse, and peered in. For a few
seconds which seemed as so many
eternities, he could see nothing. Then,
as his eyes became accustomed to the
, gloom, his vision cut through the dark-

A MOST INGENIOUS PARADOX

ness and the picture cleared.

At first he could see only smoke,
haze and then, as a great gust of wind
blew up the beach and into the open-
ing, the smoke parted. Off in the
distance, which seemed miles long,
Schlagel could see two metal braziers,
mounted on tripods, giving off heat and
smoke. Mounted on the wall, perhaps
six feet off the ground, two torches
flickered. Under the torches, and be-
tween the braziers, sat what Schlagel
had been seeking. A man !

Schlagel looked again, and decided
that the distance from the mouth of the
cave to the back wall could be no
more than one hundred yards. Log-
ically, Schlagel thought that he could
cover the hundred yards in slightly un-
der twelve seconds. And even more
logically, Schlagel knew that the ele-
ment of surprise was his, even if he
ran into the cave, shouting. One hun-
dred yards is such a short distance.

Drawing himself erect the Leut-
nant thought the situation over and
decided that he could best achieve his
goal by a dignified entrance, as was
befitting a master encountering a slave.

Leutnant Ernst Schlagel squared
his shoulders, drew a deep breath,
looked straight ahead, and walked into
the case. He advanced slowly, look-
ing to the right and to the left, shiver-
ing slightly at the cold, damp walls
which were covered with green slime.
Before he realized it, he stood almost
directly before the man.

J^OOKING down, Schlagel involun-
tarily drew back a step. Why,
this man was old! So old, that it was
almost impossible even to estimate his
age. The old man had a long white
beard, and long white hair which hung
down almost to his waist. He sat in
an old, old chair, models of which the
Leutnant had seen in the museums

in Athens. In his lap he held an old,
old book — a book which, from the looks
of it, must have been one hundred —
five hundred — who could tell how old it

was?

"You ! '" ordered Schlagel. "Take me
to the nearest German Army Post!"

The old man did not seem to hear
him.

"You! Greek swine! Answer me!
Take your damned nose out of that
book and take me to the nearest Ger-
man Army post!" Angrily the Nazi's
hand went out, rested momentarily on
the old man's shoulder, and then shook
him.

The old man looked up quietly, and
just as quietly he closed his book. He
looked his visitor over from head to
toe, and then he spoke.

"Who are you, my son, and what do
you want?"

Red with rage Schlagel bellowed: "I
am one of your conquerors. I am
Leutnant Ernst Schlagel, of the Luft-
waffe. I want to be led to the nearest
German Army post!"

"Conqueror?" mused the old man.
"Luftwaffe?" Bewilderment covered
his wrinkled features. " I know of
no conquest or Luftwaffe. I am just
an old man who has been seated here
for a long, long time meditating on
the wonders of life. I just sit here and
work with logic, seeking to uncover
the mysteries."

"Logic?" screamed Schlagel. "Very
well, then, I will give it to you in a
logical sequence. We have overrun
Europe. We have devastated the civil-
ized world. We have slain thousands
of your countrymen. We have en-
slaved millions of your decadent
Greeks. We have the power, and we
are, therefore, logically your masters.
Following that thought through, I am
your master."

The old man pondered for a moment.

AMAZING STORIES

"True, my son. If you speak the truth,
I am indeed your slave. But I cannot
take you to any place outside this cave,
because it has been so long since I
myself have left its confines. However,
if you will help me in the solution to
the problem in logic over which I am
now struggling, perhaps I may be able
to help you."

TT WAS now Schlagel's turn to
ponder. "The old man is obviously
mad. One must humor the mad in
order to achieve anything with them.
I will humor him, and then he will
help me."

To the old man: "Very well, old
one. What is your problem? I have
been well trained in logic, and will, no
doubt, be able to give you your solution
rapidly."

The old man spoke: "My son, we
all know what motion is. We see mo-
tion all around us, we move ourselves.
Yet mathematically, what is motion?
If Achilles seeks to overtake a tortoise,
it seems to us that he does so with
ease? Yet does he? Before Achilles
can overtake the tortoise, he must first
cover half the distance to the tortoise,
then he must cover half of that remain-
ing half, then half of that half, then
half of that half, ad infinitum. Now
then, my problem in logic is this : How
can Achilles cover the distance between
himself and the tortoise?"

Schlagel laughed, shrilly. "Ancient
one, the answer is simple. You have
been in your cave too long. Unless my
memory fails me, a man named Zeno
propounded that paradox. Yes, in the
narrow conceptions of Zeno's day, the
paradox had no solution, but science
has gone a long ways since Zeno.

"The theory of time-space con-
tinuum, which has opened the confines
of the infinite and the continuous has
so'ved that problem."

The old man shook his head. "No,
my son. I have thought of the con-
tinuum. I have spent many years
trying to reconcile myself to that the-
ory. But, just as with my problem,
it is only theory."

Schlagel shrugged his shoulders.
"That is neither here nor there. I
have solved your problem to my satis-
faction, and now you must lead me to
the nearest village. I have information
which is vital to the well-being of my
Fatherland. Up, old one, and lead
me."

The old man again shook his head.
"I cannot lead you, my son. But you
need no leadership. As I remember it,
the nearest town is but a short walk up
the beach. You might be able to reach
it in a short time."

"You are mad," Schlagel screamed,
spitting in his face. "I will not argue
with you now, but I will return to treat
you as you should be treated, and you
may bank on that I"

"You will return," said the old man,
"If you can first leave."

gCHLAGEL spat again, and, as he
turned he noticed the eager look
on the old man's face. Was it eager-
ness — or was it madness? Oh well,
what matter, thought Schlagel. He
finished his turn, and started walking
briskly toward the entrance of the cave.
Suddenly he stopped. Why, he had
been walking for what must have been
all of two minutes, and he was nowhere
near the entrance of the cave. He
turned and looked back at the old man
who was watching him, watching him,
with a faint, sad smile on his face.

"Smile, you swine," screamed Schla-
gel, "I'll give you something to smile
about!" He started toward the old
man, walked for what seemed a long
time, and stopped. He was nowhere
near the old manl

A MOST INGENIOUS PARADOX

Schlagel turned, and ran for the
entrance. He never reached it. Be-
wildered, he turned and again ran for
the old man, who sat there, still smil-
ing. He never reached the old man.
Again he turned — the entrance — and
again — the old man. The sweat stood
out on Schlagel's forehead as he ran
back and forth, never reaching his goal.

Finally he sank to the ground, sob-
bing with exhaustion. It was then he
noticed the bones— human bones and

animal bones, scattered near the drip-
ping walls of the cave. Struggling to
hold back the madness he felt creeping
over him, Schlagel turned toward the
old man and shrieked: "Old one, who
are you?"

The smile vanished from the old
man's face, and sadly he spoke one
word. "Zeno."

Somehow Schlagel knew that he
would never reach the entrance.
THE END

A LONG with the death and destruction that
A\ every war brings, there is progress. Science
and industry harnessed for conflict far out-
distance the negligible cultural and social achieve-
ments of war-town years. Mechanically we will
be decades ahead of where we were but a few
short years ago. What tomorrow's world will
be like depends on how far off tomorrow lies, that
is, on the duration of the war. Every month that
the war continues pushes scientific research to new
heights of chemical creativeness. Industry has ex-
panded far beyond the dreams of pre-war specu-
lators.

In almost every aspect of our physical lives,
these new changes will be felt. Luxuries of the
i pre-war world will be easily within reach of every-
l one, and products which were necessities — elec-
trical appliances, furniture, automobiles, etc. — will
be better adapted to their purposes, more con-
venient, more economical and serviceable.

Tomorrow's automobile, for example, will be
so cheap that the number of cars on the road will
jump to S0,000, 000— -twice the amount in use dur-
ing pre-war days. Due to the discovery and de-
velopment of heretofore unknown or undeveloped
substances, the postwar car will be more spacious,
and more comfortable. Its engine will be much
more powerful. Through a redesigning of the
engin« in new materials, weight will be conserved.
Every new automobile engine will be equipped
with a supercharger, and it will be built to use fuel
of 100-octane and higher. The modern airplane
engine demonstrates some of the possibilities. It
weighs less than one-fifth as much per horsepower
as the 1942 model automobile engine, and it de-
velops twice as much power per cubic inch of
displacement.

We can easily see what tremendous gains have
already been made by comparing the speedy de-
velopment of only one commodity — gasoline, In
1939 the best aviation fuel was 87-octane. Before
Pearl Harbor lhat same motor was serviced with
100 octane gasoline. An American designer recent-

"S WORLD

ly built an aircraft engine of 100 horsepower,
weighing only 100 pounds. These gains will be
utilized in the manufacture of automobiles. The
private car on the highway will have to compete
with the private plane in the sky, and the postwar
citizen will benefit from this competition whether
he rides on the highway or in the sky, or both.

The principal wartime developments, other than
new fuels which inSuence the design, production
and cost of tomorrow's automobile are synthetic
rubbers, new plastics, light metals, new alloys and
new methods of welding, molding and combining
metals, plastics, plywood and other materials.
Whenever industry resumes production of auto-
mobiles it can start at scratch. Designers will not
be bound by the traditions and limitations of old
machine tools. The methods born of the speed-up
of war production, plus the new materials and new
uses of materials developed under the pressure of
its needs and shortages, will be available to the
automobile engineer to use as he wills. Lessons
learned in the design, production, and use of the
army jeep, with its powerful traction, no less than
those acquired in the design, production and use
of the tank, airplane and submarine chaser, will
be available to automotive engineers and manu-
facturers — and to all engineers and manufacturers.

The new materials are for the most part chem-
ical contributions. Even the plywood — such as is
used to make the highly efficient Mosquito bomb-
ing planes, gliders, and other aircraft — owes a debt
to the chemist. For, it would not be possible to
produce these workable, adaptable, and durable
sections of wood to current standards of quality
without the plastics and other synthetic materials
used as binders. The new metals are right out of
the chemist's crucibles. The rate at which they are
pouring forth carries its implications of what to-
morrow will be — not only the automobile of to-
morrow, but tomorrow's railway, tomorrow's
aircraft, tomorrow's oceanlmer, even tomorrow's
house equipment and garden tools— Henry S.
Borden.

The LIFE MACHINE

By LESTER BARCLAY

THE professor invented a machine that could
reproduce things; but each time with some part
missing. What was it the machine itself lacked?

PROFESSOR THEOBOLD SLIP-
WORM kicked viciously at the
right fender of his somewhat an-
cient car.

"Damn!" he muttered. "First, I dis-
prove an equation it took me a lifetime
to prove; then the mechanic who has
been with me for twenty years decides
to join the navy because he likes uni-
forms; now this!" He kicked at the
tire this time and moaned aloud in
pain when his ankle struck the rim.

"Oh what's the use," he wailed.
"Nothing seems to work out. Even 'old
dependable' has failed me."

The car had broken down on Van
Buren and Clark. It was past the rush
hour so he had managed to maneuver
its top-heavy bulk over to the curb.

A couple of hard-looking characters
walked, or rather staggered, out of the
Chicago Coffee Shop. They clung pre-
cariously to each other for a second,
then parted, one in the direction of

Clark Street and the other in the direc-
tion of the car.

Professor Slipworm received a thump
between his shoulder blades which sent

AMAZING STORIES

him staggering against the car. Re-
covering, he turned to see a huge hulk
of a man leering at him. At least he
thought it was a leer. But "Gimme"
Gannet wasn't leering. The look on
his face was that which was usually
there. It was a look between a laugh
and a tear as though someone had sub-
stituted water for his favorite beverage,
gin.

" 'Smatter, mister?" Gimme asked.
"Car stuck?"

Professor Slipworm found his breath
and voice again.

"You— you— d r u n k e n sotl " he
shouted, brandishing a fist the size of a
child's. "I'll have you arrested ! I shall
see to it that you are thrown — "

"Aw, pipe down, Shorty." Gimme
grinned and stepped closer to the curb.
A look of awe appeared in his narrow
set, bloodshot eyes. His heavy, dark
eyebrows, slanting down almost to meet
the great blob of flesh he called a nose,
gave him an appearance of ferocity
which was entirely misleading. Gimme
was in reality a gentle person. But his
great bulk, coupled with a face always
with its look of anger, frightened peo-
ple.

Professor Slipworm reacted as did
everyone else who saw Gimme for the
first time. When the big man stepped
forward, the professor slid hastily be-
hind a light pole. But Gimme wasn't
interested in Slipworm.

"A RowlesI" he exclaimed softly.
"An' it's real!" His fingers made
caressive motions across the polished
framework of the chassis. He shook his
head in admiring wonder.

Slipworm, from behind the slim safe-
ty of the light pole, bent a close look of
observation on the big man. His shrewd
eyes, behind the horn-rimmed glasses he
wore, saw that the grime and dirt on
Gimme's clothes was not from the gut-
ter, but of the machine shop. It was

either machine oil or grease which made
those stains on the shabby work clothes
the man wore. He< noticed, too, the
look of absorption on Gimme's features.
He was positively engrossed in the car.
So much so, that he was lifting the hood
from its fastenings. That was a little
too much for Slipworm.

"Just a moment, my friend," he said
sternly, as he stepped to the big man's
side. "Just what, may I ask, are your
intentions?"

Gimme lifted his head from the
depths of the engine compartment,
looked at Slipworm with blank, unsee-
ing eyes, and said:

"Gimme a wrench — a small one."

Slipworm's mouth slipped from his
hinges at the odd request.

"What for?" he asked inanely.

Gimme looked his disgust.

"Can't reach those wires with my
fingers," he said succinctly.

Slipworm said, "Oh," and opening the
front door, reached in the glove com-
partment and pulled out the tool. Gim-
me took the tool and began to tinker
mysteriously with the engine. Slip-
worm couldn't see what he was doing
because the man was so big he blocked
off any view of what he was tinkering
with.

Every now and then a grunt or mut-
tered phrase came from the interior.
It took only a few moments. Gimme's
head re-appeared. He tossed the wrench
to Slipworm and said nonchalantly:

"Okay, Shorty! Just step in and
start 'er. She'll go. Man," he said ad-
miringly, "these old buggies were built !
Tricky wiring systems they got,
though."

Slipworm did as he was bid. And
no sooner did he press the old fashioned
starter button than the motor burst
into a full throated roar of power. He
shut off the motor and joined Gimme,
who was still standing there.

THE LIFE MACHINE

'y'HERE was respect — even awe — in
his voice, when he said:

"Thank you! And if I may, I would
like to compliment you. What you have
just done is as fine a piece of mechan-
ical repair as I have ever seen."

"Nothin'," Gimme said loftily.
"Nothin' to it. Transmission wires
crossed — caused a short. Saw it right
away."

"That, my dear man, is just the
point!" the professor exclaimed. "You
saw it — and instantly. And let me tell
you how remarkable that is ; I have had
this car in some of the finest repair
shops in Chicago." He shuddered in
memory of the experience. "Do you
know, sir, that it takes days to do even
the most simple of repairs on it. And
here you, in a few minutes, diagnose
and repair something complex. I can-
not tell you how grateful I am. Here,"
the Professor reached into his pocket,
with the obvious intention of reaching
for money. Gimme stopped him.

" 'S all right, boss," he said airily,
"fergit it! Was a pleasure to work on
that job."

Gimme's breath, redolent with gin,
floated down past Slipworm's nose. His
eyes brightened and the pale lips spread
in a smile.

"Then perhaps a drink—" He left the
words hang in the air, like stockings
over a fireplace during Christmas.

Gimme fairly leaped at the sugges-
tion.

"Boss, that's different! Always glad
to have a drink with a pal."

He took the Professor's arm and
steered him into the coffee shop.

Harry, the bartender, didn't bother
asking Gimme what he wanted. He
knew that. Slipworm ordered a short
beer.

Harry brought the drinks and one for
himself and, taking the dollar Slipworm
laid on the bar, invited them to, "Drink

up. The next is on the house."

Gimme downed his double gin as
though it were water. Harry did the
same with his Beam. But the Professor,
his hand holding the glass inches from
his lips, stopped it there. He was look-
ing toward the beer taps at the center
of the bar.

"Did I hear aright?" he murmured
to himself. "Or was it my imagination?
But I'd swear the tap played a tune
when he drew my beer."

"Beer Barrel Polka."

Slipworm looked questioningly at
Gimme. He had uttered that cryptic
phrase.

"That's the name of the song," Gim-
me explained, as he reached for the sec-
ond gin which Harry placed before
him.

Slipworm drank the beer and said :

"I thought I heard music! Is that
something new?"

"Don't know whatcha mean. Guy
said no sweeter music then what the
beer tap makes. Showed him I could
get real music out of it."

"You — you did that?" But how?"

"Easy! See that radio?" Gimme
pointed to a small radio-phonograph
combination. The top was folded back.
"Got a record on that. Connected cir-
cuit to cooling system. Every time
taps brought down circuit's broke. Rec-
ord plays. Simple."

gLIPWORM shook his head in puz-
zled wonderment. "Simple," this
man called it. He looked at Gimme
again, measuring him. He could see
and hear that insofar as formal educa-
tion went this man had little. But he
had something far more precious. A
positive mechanical genius! And the
solution to a problem came with that
thought.

"Mister, er— "

"Just call me Gimme."

AMAZING STORIES

— "Very well, Gimme. Are you em-
ployed now?"

Gimme favored the professor with a
look of annoyance.

"Listen, Shorty," he said meaning-
fully, "I don't believe in workin' for
anybody. So don't go offerin' me a
job."

Slipworm was crestfallen. That was
his thought, offering Gimme a job. He
was just the man he had in mind. And
inspiration struck him.

"I wouldn't think of offering a sci-
entist of your caliber a job," he said,
as though Gimme had insulted him.
"But I was going to ask if you would
collaborate with me on an experiment."

The look of annoyance changed to
interest.

"Experiment? What the hell d'you
make that needs my help?" Gimme
wanted to know.

"Just come with me," Slipworm said.
And without waiting to see if the other
followed, he started for the door.

Gimme was right behind.

They drove out of the Loop and
when they arrived at Grand, Slipworm
turned west. He took Elston where
those streets intersected and drove into
the very heart of a shabby, factory
district. Finally, he stopped before a
one-storied building.

"This is it," he said pushing at Gim-
me.

Gimme got out and followed the pro-
fessor into the building. They passed
through a room which had once been
an office. Several dust-encrusted desks
still remained as evidence of its former
use. Then they went through several
rooms which were storerooms. Gimme
noticed crates, stencil-stamped "Ma-
chinery." In the last room were a dozen
drums marked "Alcohol." Gimme made
a mental note of that. Slipworm opened
the other door to that room and pressed
a wall switch.

A surprised grunt came from Gimme
when he saw what the light revealed.

In the exact center of the room and
reaching from the floor almost to the
ceiling was a machine the like of which
he had never seen. It looked like a
huge rheostat, attached to a control
board fully ten feet wide. Set in the
board at intervals were various dials
and knobs. In the exact center of the
board was a large dial showing one
hundred and eighty degrees of calibra-
tion. To one side of the room, ad-
jacent to the machine, was a large
control box, itself almost large as the
mechanism. Gimme was admiring.

"Would you like to make a closer
inspection?" Slipworm suggested.

QIMME followed the Professor as
he paraded around the machine.
As they walked the Professor explained
several mysterious parts which Gimme
saw for the first time.

"See those," the professor pointed to
two large tubes, set at either end of the
well-like opening in the machine. They
looked like the antennae of some great
insect. "Four smaller tubes contain
my Z-ray. Upon them rest the success
of my experiment. Here," he pointed
to what looked like a huge storage tank,
"is where the material will be stored.
And here," he pointed to the cabinet
beside the machine, "is my control
board. This will direct the power to
the dials.

"Well, Gimme, what do you think of
it?" he asked, when they came back
to their starting point.

Gimme had never seen so complex a
machine in all his life. His fingers
fairly itched to tinker with and delve
into it. It intrigued him.

"Who made it?" he asked. "And
what's it goin' to be used for?"

Before the other answered, he led
him to a flat-topped desk in a corner

THE LIFE MACHINE

of the room and after Slipworm made
himself comfortable in the swivel chair,
he invited Gimme to sit on the desk.

"I'll answer the last question first,"
he said, "because it's the most im-
portant." He pursed his lips, settled
his glasses firmly and made a cupola
of his fingers. They were gestures he
had used in the classroom for many
years. They always preceded one of
his lectures.

"To begin," he said in his best di-
dactic manner, "we are engaged in a
war. A war in which the services of
science and industry are being used to
the fullest degree. I can say, with par-
donable pride, that I am a scientist.
To some, the lowly mathematician such
as myself is not a scientist. To those
who hold such views, I can point to
such men— ah, forgive me; I digress."

It was evident that Professor Theo-
bold Slipworm felt strongly about that
condition. He continued his lecture:

"As I said in the beginning, we are
engaged in a war. We, of course, shall
emerge victors. But how are wars won?
To quote a famous Confederate soldier,
'Get there fustest with the mostest.' And
that we must do.

"This my friend, is a war of produc-
tion. That country which will produce
the greatest number of weapons in the
shortest possible time, will win. We
have the materials and the means.
But — " he paused and as he made his
point, he sounded a fist in a palm to
give emphasis, "we suffer from obsoles-
cence in our production methods! They
are all antiquated! Luckily, our ene-
mies are no better off.

"It is the purpose of this machine to
solve the greatest difficulty in produc-
tion — the inability to produce, in limit-
less quantities, the weapons of war."

/"•IMME shook his head dazedly
when Slipworm finished. He had

never been bombarded with so much
talk before. He understood very little
of what the professor said. But his
simple mind grasped one fact. That
the professor had thought up this ma-
chine. And he, Gimme, was to help
him. But why?

"Look!" Gimme said simply. "I
ain't smart. I'm just good with my
hands. You didn't bring me here to
show me how smart you are. What's
wrong?"

"The machine!" the Professor said
sadly. "It doesn't work. And I can't
understand it. I checked every factor
in my equations. They are all correct.
There is no earthly reason why it will
not do the things it's meant to do. Yet,"
he shrugged narrow shoulders helpless-
ly, "it does not do that which it is in-
tended to."

Gimme looked over at the huge mass
of metal, gleaming in the shallow light
of electric bulbs.

"Start it," he commanded. "Get it
goin'."

Professor Slipworm walked over to
the control board attached to the ma-
chine and pressed down on a butterfly
switch near one of the dials. A hum-
ming sound filled the room. Then he
moved to the other control board and
flicked another switch. The hum rose
to a high pitched whine, so high in tone
it was almost unbearable. As for the
machine, it lit up like a Christmas tree.
The large tubes glowed in a pale, milky
light. Power tubes flashed brilliantly.
Little glass balls lit up as though the
jackpot had been hit. And over all, the
loud whine of power on the loose.

"Now, what's it s'posed to do?" Gim-
me asked. Slipworm smilled.

"Sorry, Gimme," he apologized. "But
that is something I can't tell you. That
is, not yet. This I can say. Just as we
have reproductive organs, so has this
machine. With this difference — The

AMAZING STORIES

machine must first destroy before it can
re-create. Here, I'll show you." He
climbed to the top of the machine and
pointed into an opening. Gimme joined
him and peered down into it.

Bright fingers of purplish light were
streaming from a dozen openings in the
tunnel-like wall. They crossed and
where one ray bisected another, sparks
were thrown off.

Slipworm explained:

"Those rays act like cutters. What-
ever falls into the mesh of light, dis-
integrates into the molecular structure
of its basic elements. These elements
send up waves which are caught in the
Z-rays. The Z-rays integrate the mole-
cules by means of a process known only
to me. They reform into that which
was there originally. That process goes
infinitely on, because the basic elements
remain in the mesh light and send up
these waves. Do you follow me?"

"Nope. It's all Greek to me."

"H'm. I think I'll give you a prac-
tical demonstration," said Slipworm.

He suited the action to the word. He
took an automatic pencil from his
pocket and tossed it into the hopper.
Gimme watched it fall into the web of
purple light. Streamers of sparks flew
up when the pencil struck. It glowed
weirdly for a second, then disappeared.

'J^HE professor stepped down and re-
turned to the control board. He
began to turn the large dial in the cen-
ter. As the pointer passed the nine-
tieth calibration, Gimme noticed the
color in the large tubes become opaque.
The closer the pointer came to the final
notch, the more milk-like and viscous
became the color. As the pointer reached
the last notch there was a clicking sound
and the pencil appeared midway be-
tween the large tubes, held there as
though it was attached to an invisible
wire.

A wire grid resembling a screened
windshield had glowed red when the
Professor began to turn the dial. He
had cautioned Gimme to stay behind
the grid. Simultaneous with the click-
ing sound, the grid lost its color. Then
the Professor said:

"Bring the pencil here and I'll show
you what I mean."

Gimme gingerly reached for the pen-
cil. His fingers trembled. This was
machine magic such as he'd never seen.
What his eyes saw was inexplicable.
A pencil had disappeared in one moment
and in another it had re-appeared, out
of thin air. Whatever held the pencil
released it instantly.

The professor examined it closely.

"There," he said. "Can you tell me
what is missing?"

Gimme looked at it carefully.

"It had a clip," he said. "Ain't there
now."

"Right! And now, do you under-
stand?"

"Sure, I get it. The stuff comes out
but it's always somethin' short."

"Exactly. And that is to be your
work. The solving of the puzzle.
What happens to the missing parts? I
will teach you the factors you will have
to grasp to understand the machine.
That will take several days. From then
on you will be on your own."

Gimme's reply to that was short and
to the point.

"When do we start?"

Slipworm smiled.

"Tomorrow morning will do," he
said. "There's a cot here and a small
gas range, if it is necessary to work
nights. There will be no salary but if
the experiment is a success, your name
will . . ."

Gimme was no longer listening, how-
ever. His mind already was at work
on the machine. And his fingers- were
fairly itching to get to work.

THE LIFE MACHINE

So the machine wouldn't work.
"It'll work 'fore I'm through with
it," he thought. "Must be in those
coils. I hope. It'd be a hell of a job
tracing those wires. Must be hundreds
of 'em."

He was brought back to present by
the professor's voice. There was a dis-
tinct note of pride in it.

"Some day the name of Slipworm
will be coupled with Descartes, Eras-
mus and Einstein. Callow college cubs
will curse it. But the world will be a
better place to live in. And all be-
cause of this machine, my Life Ma-
chine."

"Sure, sure," Gimme agreed. "But
it doesn't work. S'pose I tinker with
it tonight? Maybe I c'n find what's
wrong."

"Very well, Gimme," said Slipworm.
"I have things to do which will take all
day. See what you can do, and when
I return tomorrow night, we will work
on it together."

The professor left and Gimme
started to "tinker" with the machine.
But after an hour he gave up. For
once he was stumped. He was one
of those rare people, a mechanical
genius, but this thing was too much,
too complex for him. There were forces
held in leash in the machine. Forces
about which he knew nothing. The
solid realities of wires, coils and metal
were child's play to him But the mys-
terious Z-ray; the fingers of purple
light, the impalpable yet very real
emanations which these lights pro-
duced, baffled him.

/^IMME had never held a job
longer than a week. Not because
he was lazy, but because in a week he
knew everything there was to be known
about the job. This was another mat-
ter. He realized, after several hours,
that he was completely in the dark in

regards to the machine's inability to
reproduce in exactness. It was a situa-
tion that never occurred to him before.

He sat down at the professor's desk
and tried to think out what was wrong.
He didn't sit long. A peculiar instinct
had always told him what was mechan-
ically wrong with anything. But to-
night, that instinct had failed him. He
had never trained himself to think.
And so after ten minutes, his mind
began to wander. It wandered to those
drums of alcohol in the storeroom. He
grinned slyly. If only one of those
drums was full. Gimme was almost
disappointed. But one of the drums
did hold a little alcohol; enough, he
figured to make two pints of fairly
palatable gin. He had once worked
for a week as a mechanic in a distillery.
He knew what to do, if he had the
necessary equipment. And he had.

pROFESSOR THEOBOLD SLIP-
WORM, his small figure neatly
clothed in a light gray suit, his step
jaunty and alive, opened the door to
his laboratory. He had spent an agree-
able afternoon visiting old friends at
the university. The high-pitched, fa-
miliar whine greeted his arrival. He
noted, with satisfaction, that the Life
Machine 'was in operation. But he
didn't see Gimme.

"Probably worked all night and
morning. Must be catching a few
hours sleep," was his thought, as he
took off his jacket and slipped on the
dusty, tan coveralls in which he worked.

He started toward the machine and
glass crackled and splintered under his
feet.

"What's this?" he said aloud as he
bent to examine it.

It proved to be the remains of one
of several dozen pint jars he had.
Then he noticed the rest. They were
strewn in broken remnants all over the

AMAZINS STORIES

floor. His nostrils lifted, as he sniffed
at an odor not associated with his ex-
periment. Alcohol !

His first thought was, "Gimme!"
He closed the starting switch on the
machine and his ears were immediately
assailed by a sound foreign to the room.
Snores! Nerve-shattering explosions
of sound. Slipworm had never heard
such snoring. They came from the
little room in which he had the small
gas range, a supply of food and a cot.

Gimme was in there, stretched flat
on his back on the cot. His chest
heaved: his lips puffed in and out as
he snored; and spittle dribbled untidily
down his unshaven cheek.

Slipworm was disgusted.

"I should have known better," he
said to himself, as he shook the sleep-
ing drunk. For Gimme was drunk.
His breath reeked so of alcohol, Slip-
worm kept his face averted. He man-
aged finally to bring Gimme ou{ of his
torpor. The big man stood up,
scratched thoroughly at his mop of un-
combed hair, yawned widely, and after
peering through bloodshot eyes at the
professor, mumbled:

"Don' work. Machine's broke.
Don' work."

"So it is broke, is it?" Slipworm
yelled. The spectacle of the drunken
Gimme and the thought that perhaps
Gimme had meddled with the machine
and broken an irreplaceable part, mad-
dened Slipworm. It was useless strik-
ing Gimme with his fists. But there
were several heavy pieces of crating
wood lying close by.

Slipworm picked up one of the
staves and began to beat Gimme about
the head and shoulders, shouting, as
he struck:

"Sot"— thump, whack — "twenty-five
years" — sock, whack — "I spent on the
machine and in one day" — thump,
whack — "you wreck it!"

Gimme, his arms held over his head
in an effort to protect himself, groaned,
between blows:

"Wait, boss" — thump, whack — "noth-
in' happened" — sock, whack — "to it.
Ow! Don't" — sock — "I'mtellin'ya — "

Slipworm stopped raining blows on
Gimme. Not because of what the man
on the bed said, but because his last
blow splintered the club.

He shook the end that remained in
Gimme's face and shrieked:

"What did you do to it? Imbecile!
Moron!" Suddenly his temper left
him. Sadly he whispered, "How could
you do it?"

Gimme stopped his wailing long
enough to say:

"Gee, boss, nothin' happened to the
machine. Ow, my head ! I fooled with
it f 'r a while an' then — "

"Yes," Slipworm prompted.

" — I remembered the alcohol. So
I thought I'd have a drink. Made a
couple a' pints. Then I saw the jars.
Got an idea — oh, my head! — that may-
be the machine would give me more. So
I threw jar and gin inta the hole there."

"Well, what happened? Did the jar
come back?"

"Oh yeah! But the gin didn't. So
I tried it again. Just the jar came
back. Guess I was so drunk, I got
mad and — " He left the rest unsaid.

"I know," Slipworm. said wearily,
but there was also relief in his voice.
"So you broke every jar you found."

"Uh huh."

gLIPWORM broke into sudden laugh-
ter. Gimme looked at him as
though he thought he'd gone mad. The
professor sat down beside Gimme. His
rather young face, usually smooth and
unwrinkled, held lines of laughter in it
now.

"That was silly of me, wasn't it?
Of course I assumed that something

THE LIFE MACHINE

had happened. The more I struck, the
deeper my anger became. Really,
Gimme, you must forgive me."

Gimme grunted a sour, "Sure," and
continued to nurse his bruises.

"Well," said Slipworm rising and
starting to the laboratory, "shall we
get back to work?"

Gimme looked up. His face looked
more sullen than ever.

"Nah!" he grunted. "Ain't no use.
I can't do anything with it."

Slipworm nibbled at his lip in vexa-
tion. He shouldn't have lost his tem-
per. He needed the derelict, if only
to make minor repairs.

"Wait, Gimme," he said contritely,
"I am really sorry all this happened.
And insofar as the machine is con-
cerned, I didn't expect you to make
things right. After all — "

"Aah, fergit it!" Gimme snarled.
He saw the Professor was no longer
angry. "I'm scrammin' outa here.
That machine gives me the willies any-
way."

He started for the door. Slipworm
stopped him before he quite reached it.

"So you're scrammin' outa here," the
professor mocked him. "Then remem-
ber this before you go! You aren't
just letting me down. You are letting
your country down. Because if we,"
Slipworm put accent on the word, "iron
out these difficulties, then the war will
be measurably shortened to our ad-
vantage. But I see you have made up
your mind. Very well, go. But if you
should change your mind, here is my
card. Call me."

He thrust a card into Gimme's hand.
The bum put it into his jacket. He
didn't read it. Nor did he pause on
his way out.

■OEINHOLD SHMUTZ bent his
head close to the blondined one of
Clarice Le Clair. The scar which ran

from his forehead to his chin gleamed
dully white in the soft light of the
booth they occupied at the Glitter Bar
on State and Van Buren.

"Well, Fraulein," he whispered,
"what have you heard?"

Her eyes, beneath the curtains of
their artificial lashes, held fear. She
was a tall, rather thin woman in her
middle twenties. She danced in the
chorus at the White Way burlesque
theater. Her face, despite its layers
of stage make-up, looked haggard.

Shmutz smiled. A quiver of fear ran
down her spine at the facial contortion.
So she was to play mouse to his cat
again. Her eyes pleaded with him.
But if he saw the plea he gave no sign.
His one good eye looked unblinkingly
into hers. The other was glass and
fit badly; the pupil being off center
and pointing to the outer corner of the
lid. It lent a grotesque and horrible
air to his face.

"Well?" His voice was a knife-point,
digging at her vitals.

"Please, Reinhold." She stumbled
over the words. "I didn't — I didn't have
a chance — last night. You see we got
through so late and Flossie wanted me
to — " The words came out in a swift
rush, as if her fear compelled her to
get it over with as quickly as possible.

His fist came down with a crash on
the booth top, spilling her drink and
making his empty glass dance.

"Stop!" he growled. "Enough of
these excuses! Every night it is the
same thing. Already they are losing
patience with me. With me — Reinhold
Shmutz ! As though I am somebody — "

"Reinhold," she begged, "please.
Somebody will hear you."

Her eyes, their pupils contracted in
fear, glanced around the crowded bar,
as though she expected a demon to leap
from the crowd.

"Shut up," he said, speaking slowly

AMAZING STORIES

and softly. "You are becoming a bur-
den. A useless burden! And that is
not good. You understand?"

She nodded dumbly.

"Go!" he commanded. "Go back
to your posturings for the morons. To-
morrow, I will call."

He dismissed her, as abruptly as
though she were a slave, whose will, as
well as body, belonged to him. She
left without a word.

He sat for several minutes, staring
with unseeing eyes at his empty whis-
key glass. Then tired of the noise about
him, he too got up and left.

"Damn!" he muttered when he came
outside. "I might as well get drunk.
It is easy to forget then."

His steps, slightly wavering in the
spell of the whiskey, took him past the
Chicago Coffee Shop. Its brightly lit
interior, in sharp contrast to the shaded
looks of the taverns, made him pause
and look in. Whatever he saw there
must have pleased him for he decided
to continue his drinking there.

'^"'HERE was but a single vacant
stool at the bar. Shmutz sat on
it. A street car employee sat on one
side and on the other sat a large, un-
kempt individual, wearing grease-
stained jacket and trousers. A tall
glass of gin rested in front of the big
man and with every sip he took he
would mumble something to himself.

But Shmutz had his own troubles.
He ordered a double whiskey from the
bartender, and when it came downed
it in a single gulp. Then he ordered
another and treated it in like fashion.
The third he nursed.

"So," he came back to the theme he
had played at the Glitter Bar, "they are
displeased with me." Suddenly he was
drunk. He began to mumble aloud,
"There'sh no jushtish. Alwaysh did
m'best. No credit. Alwaysh did besht."

The big man turned to him and said,
in a bleary voice, " 'Scuse me. Wash
you talkin' to me?"

Shmutz regarded him owlishly for a
second and shook his head.

"Shorry," the other said and went
back to his drink.

Shmutz finished his drink and or-
dered another. As he waited for the
bartender to bring it, the mumbling of
the big man beside him came clearly to
his ears.

"So. I'm traitor. Well he c'n take
machine and stick it," the big man said.
"Don' work anyhow. Gonna win war
with it. Hah!"

As quickly as he had become drunk,
so quickly did Shmutz sober up on
hearing those words.

"You have troubles too, eh, friend?"
he said softly.

The big man turned blinking,
drunken eyes in his direction.

"Huh?" he said. "Yah, troublesh.
Plenty. Ain't no good. Me ! " he sud-
denly shouted. "Ex servish man. He
can't shay that 'bout me."

Shmutz laid a restraining hand on
the other's arm.

"Easy, my friend," he cautioned.
"They'll only throw you out."

The other took his advice.

"That's better," said Shmutz. "Now
what were you saving about being a —
traitor?"

A foolish grin came to life on the
big man's face.

"Buyin' a drink?" he suggested.
Shmutz laughed.

"A drink. Hell, I'll buy a bottle."

"Shay. Thash pretty good. You're
aw right. You're my frien'." He
pawed in amiable friendship at Shmutz's
shoulders.

Shmutz bought a bottle from the bar-
tender and said:

"Well, we've got a bottle. What'll
we do with it?" Then as though

THE LIFE MACHINE

struck by thought, "Say, mister, how
about going up to my place and kill-
ing it?"
"Good idea; lesh go."

DEINHOLD SHMUTZ lived in a
small hotel on the near North side.
The two men got out of the cab they
had taken from the tavern. It was an
effort to maneuver the big man around
but Shmutz managed to get him to his
room. In the room at last, Shmutz
dumped his new friend into an over-
stuffed chair. He sprawled out in it,
puffy lips opened wide in an idiotic grin.
He breathed noisily, gustily. His eyes
were glassy. Shmutz looked down at
the drunk and muttered an imprecation
concerning "damn drunken fools."

He began to think he had made a
mistake. That peculiar instinct which
had always told him when a person
would prove valuable to his needs
seemed to have failed him. The mo-
ment he had heard this man blabbing
about his machine which would win the
war, something told him to make an
acquaintance. Shmutz stared in won-
der at the untidy hulk sprawled out in
front of him and wondered to what
use he could put him.

The glazed eyes turned upward to
focus in his face. The lips mumbled a
broken phrase, "shleep — gotta shleep—
fix machine — " and then his eyes closed.
He was asleep.

Shmutz went through the man's
pockets. Nothing except a card which
read, "Theobold Slipworm — eighteen
hundred and six Elston Ave. Briar-
gate 6123."

The card meant nothing. It told
nothing. Shmutz shrugged his shoul-
ders and walked into the bathroom.
After rinsing his face in cold water, he
felt better.

"Now to sober up my friend," he
decided. "But not too much. He may

not talk then."

He took a hand towel from the rack
and soaked it thoroughly in cold water.
Then he wrung it out and brought it
into the other room. The man in the
chair was snoring in stentorian bellows.

Shmutz pulled the other's hand down
and slapped the towel against the man's
neck. A gasp came from the big man's
lips. The head came back with a jerk
and Shmutz slapped him gently across
the face with the cold wet towel.

"Uh, don't! S'cold!"

Shmutz dropped the towel to the floor
and began to shake the other. After
several minutes, Shmutz felt the man
trying to pull his head from Shmutz's
grasp. He let go and said loudly:

"Wake up, my friend, I have a drink
for you."

A coated tongue licked at dry lips.
Leaden colored eyelids moved away
from bloodshot eyes, and Shmutz saw
that consciousness had returned.

"I'll make some coffee," he said.

The big man gulped down the cup of
steaming liquid as though it was water.
He took the second more slowly.

"Feel a little better?" Shmutz
asked.

"Yah. How'd I get here? And who
are you?"

"Don't you remember? That tavern
on Van Buren Street — "

The big man's eyes narrowed.

"Sure," he said nodding his head
slowly, "That's right, the Coffee Shop.
I was drunk, wasn't I?"

Shmutz almost laughed in the other's
face. So he didn't remember.

"Yes, you were drunk. Luckily for
you, I happened to be there."

"Why? What happened?"

"We-11, you were getting kind of
loud about something. And I thought
that perhaps a little air would help
you."

"Say!" the big man exclaimed, "I

AMAZING STORIES

remember. I was blowin' my yap about
that machine, wasn't I? Sure." Re-
sentment flamed in his breast again.
"Well, I had a right to, damn it! Call-
ing me a slacker. Why that little
shrimp never had a better mechanic.
Him an' his goofy ideas."

"Oh," said Shmutz softly, "so you
are a mechanic?"

"Me? The best there is. But that
machine had me stumped."

It was evident he was a man with a
one track mind.

"Well never mind that. How about
a drink?"

"Sure. Got one here?"

CHMUTZ opened the bottle of gin he
had bought and poured two drinks.

"Ah! That's better," said the other,
shaking his head in satisfaction.

They sat silent for a few seconds,
then Shmutz said softly:

"Yes, my friend, some machines
have us stumped. It must have been
very complicatted."

"I'll say it was. Had more gadgets
on it. An' just because I tried to get a
little more gin than I had, the guy raises
a big stink."

"So. Tell me about it."

He did. And in conclusion said:

"So he calls me a traitor. Says I'm
lettin' my country down. Where does
he get that stuff?"

"Then you quit?"

"Well — I c'n go back to work today
if I want."

"You are lucky then. You have a job.
And you are also to do your country a
service."

"What's wrong? Haven't you got a
job?"

Shmutz sighed heavily.

"No, my friend. I too, am a mechan-
ic. Just now I am out of work. Per-
haps soon I will find another job."

"Say, I got an idea. An' I'll bet he'll

do it or my name ain't Gimme."

"What did you say your name was?"

"Gimme. They call me that because
I'm always askin' for somethin'."

"Interesting. My name is Ronald
Smith, Mister Gimme."

"The 'mister' ain't necessary, Smith,"
said Gimme. "But about this idea. That
Slipworm guy'ud take me back. He
says he needs me. So when I go down
in the mornin', you're comin' with me."

"I?" said Shmutz. "Why?"

"Well, you need a job don't ya? An'
if he wants me bad enough, he'll hire
you too."

'y'HEOBOLD SLIPWORM threw
the pencil away in disgust. The desk
top held a mass of papers, each of which
held rows of figures, formulas and prob-
lems.

"Damn!" he swore softly. There
were deep circles of fatigue under his
eyes. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
He had been working all night, figuring
and trying to puzzle out what it was
that was wrong. "Perhaps," he said
wearily, "there are mechanical difficul-
ties I hadn't thought of. Things which
are beyond my understanding. If only
that Gimme had stayed with me." He
sighed and picked up another pencil,
and there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Slipworm called out.

The door opened and Gimme and
Shmutz walked in.

Slipworm's sigh of relief could be
heard across the room. He hastened to
greet Gimme.

"I'm glad to see you," he cried. "You
are coming back to work, aren't you?"

"Yeah. An' I brought someone along
to help. This is Smith," Gimme re-
plied and introduced his friend.

Slipworm shook hands and said:

"Good! Another hand won't hurt.
Well, shall we get to work?"

Shmutz proved to be a capable and

THE LIFE MACHINE

efficient electrician, and very curious
about the machine and its purpose. His
curiosity, however, was masked by his
manner, which seemed to say, "As an
electrician, all this intrigues me."

Every now and then a peculiar gleam
would light in his eyes.

"Gott! " he thought exultantly. "This
man is genius. But a fool. To permit
strangers to examine; even help them
in their examination. But why should
I complain? It will serve my purpose
perfectly."

Slipworm turned on the Z-ray; this
time for Shmutz's benefit. Then he did
something new. He showed how
quickly the machine reproduced. After
dropping a screw into the opening, he
went through the various phases of op-
eration he had gone through with Gim-
me. But when the screw rested on its
invisible platform, he threw another
switch. A metal ball attached to a slen-
der steel pole began to revolve.

Circular bands of light came into be-
ing at the pole's base and flowed up-
ward. As they reached the level of the
metal ball, they were dissipated into the
air.

And as these spirals of light formed
around the slender, steel pole, so were
spirals formed around the large opening
in the center of the machine. Each of
these spirals bore thousands of screws.

The professor permitted only a half
dozen of these spirals to form, then he
cut the switch. When he returned with
a handful of screws and showed them
to Gimme and his friend, they saw what
was wrong. The heads were missing on
all the screws.

"You see," he said to Shmutz, "it re-
produces, but imperfectly. That is our
problem."

"Y'know, boss, I got an idea about
that," Gimme said.

They looked at him expectantly.

"If y'don't mind, I'd like to figure it

out by myself. I'm pretty sure I'm
right, too."

"Go right ahead," said Slipworm. He
looked at his watch. "Oh my, it's al-
most ten. Didn't realize it was so late.
Can I drive you anywhere, Smith?"

The Professor could and did; to Di-
vision and State.

£|LARICE LE CLAIR showed up at
Shmutz's apartment around mid-
night. He had called her in the after-
noon, during lunch.

She opened the door and stopped,
mouth agape. He was pacing across
the worn carpet of his room. There was
such a look of exultance on his face as
she had never seen.

"Sit down, my dear," he said softly.

She looked at him in surprise. His
manner was so gentle it frightened her
more than when he was brusque.

"Yes, Reinhold."

She sat in the same chair Gimme had
sat in the night before. He continued
his pacing for several more minutes.
Abruptly he stopped and looking down
at her frightened face, said:

"You do not want to do what I have
been asking you?"

"Oh yes," she said eagerly. Too
eagerly.

"Never mind." He dismissed her
eagerness with a wave of his hand. "I
know better. This business— shall we
say — of prying into the affairs of war
plants is not to your liking."

It was a statement, not a question.
She said nothing.

"But whether you like it or not does
not matter. You will do it ! Or else the
baby brother, the one who is now a
prisoner of war, shall suffer— because
his sister did not do the little things
we ask."

Suddenly she began to cry. She
buried her face in her hands. So great
was her grief her body shook unrestrain-

AMAZING STORIES

edly in its grip.

The sight and sound of her weeping
angered Shmutz. He grabbed a handful
of her hair with one hand, pulled her
head back and with the other slapped
her heavily across the face several
times.

"You cow," he growled, "stop that! "

She cowered back in the chair. She
had become too frightened even for
tears. But every now and then a sob
would escape through her lips,

"Remember!" he said. "A German
is a German wherever he may be. Your
name is Schmidt. A good German name.
And we in Germany still consider your
brother one of us. So if it is necessary
to punish him, it will be as a German,
It is not even pleasant to think of."

That smile, evil as the pit of Hell,
broke out on his lips again.

"But tonight, I will not talk of that.
Instead, dear Fraulein. I have good
news for you. Ah yes, good news."

He rubbed his hands in gleeful an-
ticipation.

"I have but one more job for you.
When that is done, you may do what
you will. I shall ask nothing more of
you."

Her eyes opened wide in amazement.
Not any more of drinking with sailors
and soldiers. No more asking where
they were going. No more drinking
with working stiffs from war plants and
getting them drunk enough to spill in-
formation Shmutz could use. It couldn't
be true ! He was playing with her again.

CHE remembered that night at the
Glitter Bar when he had sat down
beside her.

"Are you not Celia Schmidt?" he had
asked.

She remembered how she started
with surprise.
"Er, yes," she had said. "Why?"
"Your brother," he replied, "poor

boy, is a prisoner of the Germans."

It was true. She had received a letter
from the War Department, a week be-
fore, notifying her of the fact. And two
days later, several of the papers had
printed the news of his capture. He had
been a gunner on a Flying Fortress,
which had been shot down in Germany.

"Yeah. That's right. The poor kid's
a prisoner of those dirty murderers."

"Ah," he had sighed reflectively, "it
is such a pity. If only his name were
Jones or Brown, But no, it is Schmidt."

"Say, are you nuts? What's the idea
of comin' here and — "

"Gently, my dear Miss Schmidt. It
is not necessary to raise the voice."

Then he had told her about the fas-
cists considering her brother as a Ger-
man because his parents had come from
there. The blackmail had begun in that
second, when he saw how agitated she
became at the visions he brought up.
And now he was saying she did not have
to do any more of these things. Except
one . . .

"What is it?" she asked quickly.
"What do you want me to do?"

He sat down opposite her and began
to talk. Or rather, think aloud :

"It makes such a fine pattern. This
professor, who is a mathematical genius.
And Gimme, who is a mechanical genius.
And myself, with my genius for sabo-
tage. But this time, there will be more
than sabotage. For after Gimme finds
out what is wrong, I will get the pro-
fessor's formulas and then — wreck the
machine. It will be the greatest achieve-
ment of my career. With such a ma-
chine, the Fatherland will be invincible.
This machine can only reproduce small
things; but a larger machine will re-
produce larger ones. Cannon even."

The woman sat there, her jaws slack
in wonder.

"And that," he suddenly spoke to her,
"will be your job. To get the formula.

THE LIFE MACHINE

Yes. In a few days I will introduce you
to my friend Gimme. As the professor
says, he is a mechanical wizard. Soon
he will find out what is wrong. The pro-
fessor will re-write his formulas and
then — " he paused and grinned wolfish-
ly at her — "then you will contrive to get
Gimme to steal the formulas. One night
the police will arrive and find the pro-
fessor dead, the machine wrecked and
Gimme present, very drunk."

He laughed aloud in pleasure and
added:

"Is it not a beautiful plot?"

She could not repress the shudder
which came over her. He saw it and
standing up, he said in dismissal:

"Go. I shall call you when I'm
ready."

£UMME hadn't found out what was
wrong. When Slipworm and
Shmutz came down the next morning,
they found him deep in work over the
wiring system on the small board.

"Nope," he said to the professor's
questions. "I didn't find out what was
wrong. But I c'n tell you this. Who-
ever set this up, went about it the long
way. "Look," and he showed how he
had devised a short cut.

They labored over it all day. And for
several weeks following. But there was
no change in the situation. The ma-
chine seemed human in its stubborn-
ness.

If there was no change in the ma-
chine, there was in Gimme. Shmutz
had become his shadow. They were in-
separable, night and day. Even the
professor, wrapped up as he was in his
problems, noticed it. Gimme had begun
to shave every day. He had become
more neat and clean in his appearance.
And he stopped drinking. All because
of Shmutz . . .

"What'U people think? Shmutz said
one night. "What does your wife

think of all this drinking?"

"Ain't got no wife. And don't care
what people think," Gimme replied.

"Not even a woman friend?"

"Say, what woman would look twice
at a broken-down wreck like me?"

Shmutz detected the longing in his
voice.

"Perhaps if you were to become more
clean in your habits, stop drinking, get
some clothes, become more respectable,
then perhaps some woman would notice
you."

"Ah nuts!" was Gimme's reply to
that.

But he had come down the very next
day with a clean shave. Each succeed-
ing day saw a change in the man. It
culminated in a new suit. Then it was
that Gimme asked Shmutz:

"Look Smitty, where c'n I get a room.
I'm gettin' tired of the flop I'm stayin'
at. Too many 'boes."

"Why I think there is a room at my
hotel that is vacant."

Shmutz knew then that Gimme was
ready for Clarice.

Early one evening, as they were leav-
ing the laboratory, Shmutz said:

"How about relaxing tonight, Gim-
me? Come downtown with me. We'll
shoot a game of pool and maybe see a
movie."

"Yeah," said Gimme, "think I will.
Need a little rest anyway. That damn
machine! " He spat on the floor in vexa-
tion. "No matter what I do to it, it
just doesn't work."

Shmutz saw to it they got off at State
and Van Buren.

"Oh say, Gimme," he said, as though
he was reminded of something, "I've
got to stop in at the Glitter Bar for a
moment. Come on in with me."

The bar was crowded, as usual, with
service men. A dark-haired woman in
a low-cut gown was doing her best to
sing above the noise of the crowd. They

100

AMAZING STORIES

found a small booth in a corner.

"Be right back," Shmutz said.

He returned in a few moments. With
him was a slender woman with dyed
blonde hair. Stage makeup lay thick on
her face.

"Look, Gimme," he said. "Met a
friend of mine up there. Want you to
meet her. Miss Le Clair— Mister
Gannet." He turned to Clarice and said,
"Gimme, here, is one fine guy and a
wonderful mechanic."

Gimme became red of face and mum-
bled a "pleased to meet'cha ma'am."

"Look, Smitty," Gimme said out of
the side of his mouth, as the two sat
down, "the front handle is John."

Shmutz grinned. Gimme's embar-
rassment was so obvious.

gHMUTZ carried the brunt of the
conversation. Gimme sat silent for
the most part, contributing an "uh-
huh" or "no," as the occasion de-
manded. The girl, too, sat silent. She
seemed more interested in her drink
than in the talk.

Suddenly Shmutz looked at his watch.

"Sorry, folks," he said, as he slid out
of the booth, "but I've got to go now.
See you at the hotel, John. And you,
Clarice, don't flirt with my friend. He's
very shy."

Gimme's face flamed scarlet. Strange-
ly, Clarice didn't laugh.

"He is shy," she thought. "So this
is the man!"

She had been giving him a close go-
ing over with her eyes. What she saw
rather pleased her. Gimme was not her
idea of a handsome man; but there was
something about his rugged features and
huge figure that gave her a feeling of
security. She watched his hands —
strong, blunt-tipped fingers playing with
his beer glass — and knew they were the
hands of a man who created things.

"Ronald has told me about you, John.

He thinks a lot of you."

"Yeah? Oh,Smitty's a good guy,miss.
Shoots off his lip too much though."

"You don't know much about women,
do you, John?" she said smiling. She
didn't know why she said that. It
wasn't what she intended to say.

He looked up from examining the
table top. Something about the way she
looked, as though she had said, "Let's
be friends," made him feel inexplicably
and instantly at ease. He smiled in re-
turn and said:

"No, miss, I don't. Guess I've never
had the chance to find out."

That broke the ice. They chatted
amiably about various things until her
break was over. She got his promise to
come back the next night before she left.

Later, in Shmutz's room, Gimme
wanted to know all about her. Shmutz
invented a story for him. He saw Gim-
me was deeply interested in her.

In a short while, the two became fast
friends. He would meet her at the Glit-
ter Bar when he was through at the
laboratory and sit and talk through sev-
eral show breaks. Then he would go
back to his hotel and eulogize her to
Shmutz. He never wondered at the
pleased smile the other wore.

Soon he began to talk of the machine,
of the work they were doing and of what
it would mean in the war effort. He
spoke, with a pride in his voice which
old acquaintances would never have un-
derstood, of his part. Then one night
he came out with that for which she had
been waiting yet dreading to hear.

He had come in that night a little
later than usual. She saw in his face
the signs of great inner excitement.
His words were:

"I think we've got it, Clarice. I
thought it was in the balance of the
tubes and tonight," he paused to draw a
breath, "tonight," he said satisfyingly,
"we check on what I found. According

THE LIFE MACHINE

101

to the professor it must be the thing."

"That's wonderful, John! When will
you know whether you're right?"

"Tomorrow, when the professor re-
checks the formula he's doing tonight."

J-XE LOOKED past her with unseeing
eyes. A great dignity lay on his

face.

"Y'know," he said in a low voice,
"I've been a bum for many years. Never
gave a damn about myself or anyone
else. Then this little guy comes along.
An' he gives me that stuff about love of
country. So I think he's nuts." He
sighed deeply and looked directly at her.
"Y'know, Clarice, that little guy's all
right. And he's got the right idea. He
doesn't care about anything except get-
tin' that machine to work. Because,
like he says, 'it's going to save a lot of
lives by shortenin' the war.' He says
our lives don't mean nothin'. I guess
he's right too."

It was the longest speech he'd ever
made. He saw the surprised look on her
face. It made him feel embarrassed,
and then he knew he had to say some-
thing else too.

"Yeah. And' here's somethin' even
funnier. You had a lot t'do with it. You
never laughed at me. Or ribbed me. No,
you've been a great guy, Clarice, an' I —
What's the matter?"

She had suddenly burst into a flood of
tears. She scrambled out of the booth
and before he knew what was happen-
ing, she had kissed him on the mouth
and whispered:

"Thanks, you big lug. I'll never for-
get you."

She was gone before he could stop
her.

For once, he did not go back to his
room after he left the Glitter Bar. Some-
how what he felt then he could not talk
over with anyone. For hours he walked
the streets, his mind churning.

gHMUTZ was going over a report he
had just finished. He read what he
had written:

"I am pleased to report that very
soon I shall have good news for you.
The difficulties I had told you about are
about to be ironed out at last. My
friend has found the solution and we
are but waiting for the proof. When
that comes, I shall have — " he stopped
reading and turned to see who had come
into the room. It was Clarice!

Yet it wasn't. This woman who stood
before him, straight figured and resolute
was not the frightened mouse he knew.
There was purpose and courage in her
bearing.

"And what," he arrogantly de-
manded, "are you doing here at this
time? You should be with that moron
Gimme."

Her lips creased in a thin smile.

"Reinhold," she said softly, "you
should never have introduced me to
your friend. It was the one mistake
you made."

He arose and walked toward her.
There was menace in his face but if she
saw it, it made no difference for she
stood her ground even when he stopped
before her.

"What do you mean?"

"Just this. I am not going to do as
you want."

He smiled the smile she feared. The
one which presaged the blow. But all
fear had left her. Even after he struck,
there was only the dull pain from his
blow, nothing else.

He came back to his chair, sat down
and asked in a pleasant, amused voice:

"That is very, very interesting, my
dear. Tell me, what brought on this
change of heart?"

"Nothing," she replied. A tiny trickle
of blood made its way from a corner
of her mouth.

Shmutz became interested in his fin-

102

AMAZING STORIES

gernails, his face expressionless.

"So," he said, not looking at her, "it
was nothing. A whim, shall we say?
Dear me, how pleased your brother
will be when the lead-tipped whip burns
across his flesh to know that it was a
whim that brought on that pain. He
will think of you with love when the
iron shod boot strikes deep in his groin
and bless you for this whim." He
looked at her. His eye held a savage
lust. The scar on his face burned red
against the suddenly pale skin. And
his lips sent out torturing, pain-filling
words :

"So it was nothing which made you
change your mind. Good! Then you
will feel no sorrow when you learn how
he died. In pain and horror, cursing
you, who gave him the death he will
have."

All color had fled from her face.
Even her lips showed pale. But her
eyes gave away the pain his words
brought.

"I know, Reinhold," she whispered.
"You have told me many times of his
death to be. And now it doesn't make
any difference. His death or mine. But
there isn't going to be any more death
because of me. You see, Reinhold, I
am going to the police and tell them
what I know. That won't be pleasant
for you, I'm sure."

Her shot had struck home. And she
instantly realized she had made a mis-
take. She should never have said that.
She turned and started for the door.

Too late!

TJE WAS on her, his fist lashing out
in a terrific blow. It caught her
just below her left ear. There was a
loud "crack," like breaking wood and
she fell sideways against the sofa. She
hung there for a part of a second, then
rolled to the floor.
A single glance at the grotesquely

twisted head and he knew she was
dead. He had broken her neck with
that blow.

He looked somberly down at her for
a second, then went back to his chair
and sat down. After that one look, he
paid no more attention to her than if
she were another rug lying there.

His lips were tight-pressed in sud-
den purpose. There were two things
he had to do. Get rid of her body;
then wreck the machine. But how?
The solution came to him in a flash. It
was so simple, he laughed aloud in re-
lief.

He walked to his closet and took, out
a suit. Then he disrobed the corpse
and dressed it in the suit. She had been
a tall woman and the garment fit fairly
well. He then took off her shoes and
laced a pair of his onto her feet. They
were loose but not loose enough to fall
off. Next, he took a cap and rolling
her hair up tightly, fit the cap over
her head. Then he splashed whiskey
over her. To all outward appearances
it was a drunken man lying there.

He lifted the lax figure from the floor
and was thankful for her lack of weight.
He held the dead body close to him
and staggered out of the room with it.
The freight elevator was a few feet from
his room. He knew it would not be in
use at this hour. It brought him down
to the alleyway. He staggered out to
the street and hailed a passing cab.

The driver looked at him curiously,
as he gave the address — "Eighteen hun-
dred and six Elston Avenue."

"Too much to drink, eh?" the driver
said with a grin.

"Yeah," Shmutz replied laughingly.
"Couldn't take it. Passed out."

They pulled up before the building
which housed the laboratory.

"This it, mister?"

There was surprise in the driver's
voice.

THE LIFE MACHINE

"Yes," Shmutz replied casually. "We
work here. I'll sober him up inside."

The driver shrugged his shoulders
and put his car into motion again. He
held the dead body upright until he saw
the cab lights disappear around a cor-
ner. Then he slung it across a shoul-
der and walked to the door of the build-
ing. He fished in his pocket for the
key Slipworm had given him when he
first started to work there. The door
closed softly behind him and his grue-
some burden.

He switched the laboratory lights on
and dumped the body on the floor. The
mass of machinery stood silent before
him. Inexplicably he shuddered and
felt fear of the machine. It was fear-
some in its power. The feeling passed
quickly however. He had work to do!

QUICKLY, he set about undressing
the body again. He rolled the
clothes up into a neat, small bundle.
Then he threw the switches on the con-
trol boards. The room filled with the
sound of the machine's breath; the vast
humming sound of its power. Again he
slung the body over a shoulder and
walked to the opening in the center of
the machine.

He sighed with relief when he saw
the body would fit into the opening.
He left it hanging over the edge and
went back to the control board. He
set the dial over to the one hundred
and seventy-fifth degree. The pointer
slowly moved to the appointed notch
and stayed there. The disintegrator
rays were onl

Slowly, carefully, he tipped the body
into the opening. He watched it fall
into the web of purple lights, watched
it glow for a second and when it dis-
appeared, a smile of triumph lighted
his face. That was done! Now to
wreck the machine.
The tubes. They held the mys-

terious Z-ray. He had to smash those.
There in the tool chest was a heavy
Stillson wrench. He was bending down
to pick it up when he heard a sound.

Panic filled his breast. To be caught
now, when he was so near success . . .

He turned and leaped for the wall
switch. He did not notice the pocket
of his jacket had flipped the switch
which released the pointer on the large
dial. He had ears only for the sound
he heard beyond the door. Quickly he
gathered up the bundle of clothes from
the floor and stole out of the door.
There was nothing, no one, in the other
room.

Somehow, he could not go back again.
Panic had released a thousand fears
in his mind. He had but one thought—
to get out and back to his room, as
quickly as possible.

Slowly, the pointer crept across the
face of the dial. The humming grew
louder, higher. And the pointer came
to rest on the last degree. There was
a loud crackling sound, as of ice break-
ing and the humming died down.

Weird, strangely colored circles of
light began to form at the base of the
opening in the machine. And from the
opening itself, an unearthly glow came
forth. It was as though the machine
had become alive and the strange light
spiraling upward was its breath.

DEINHOLD SHMUTZ could not
sleep. He had come back to his
room and had gone to bed. He had
noticed that Gimme's room was dark.
But Shmutz was too perturbed to care
much. He wanted to be alone.

Now that he was alone, he did not
like it. He kept hoping that Gimme
would knock on his door. But only
silence answered his wish. He stared
at the ceiling above him. And a face
formed from out of its dark depths.

He felt his throat go tight and his

104

AMAZING STORIES

mouth became suddenly dry. Cold,
clammy sweat formed on his forehead.
The face! It was that of the dead
girl. The face was hers, yet not hers.
He had never seen such a look of stern
austerity on her features before. The
look accused and sentenced him at the
same time.

He closed his eyes in terror. The
face was gone when he opened them
again. He leaped out of bed and turned
on every light in the room. It was an
hour before he went back to bed.

He had been warm when he re-
turned. So he had thrown his windows
open to let some air in. Now, as he
lay there in the darkness, a strange
thing happened. Little figures, each
glowing with some queer, inner light
floated into the room. He watched
them with an odd air of detachment.
They floated about for a few seconds,
then settled over his head. There were
dozens of them and more kept coming
in through the windows.

He heard the sounds of tiny voices.
They were calling him!

"Reinhold! It's me Clarice! Look,
here I am."

They kept floating around, calling
the same thing over and over again.

He noticed a strange thing about the
tiny figures. Each head was bent at a
horrible angle.

"Stop it ! " he screamed. "Leave me 1
You are dead. Do you hear? Dead!"

"No!" the tiny voices replied. "Not
dead. Not yet. You forgot something.
The machine."

He leaped from his bed and began
to strike at them. Futility! His fists
passed through the tiny figures, as
though they were composed of smoke.

They began to float back out of the
window and as they left their voices
tolled:

"Not dead, Reinhold. Not yet. The
machine!"

"Yes," he chattered to himself, "the
machine. I must destroy it."

He began to dress in a frenzy of
impatience. And as he dressed, he mur-
mured mad phrases to himself:

"They came from there — The Life
Machine, Slipworm called it. He was
right — it has given life back to her. I
must wreck it — she must stay dead."

J_JE NEVER knew how he got there.

Nor did he remember switching
on the laboratory lights. He only knew
what he saw.

Waves of light came from the ma-
chine. Strangely colored, shimmering
light. And nesting on each light wave
were dozens of replicas of Clarice! The
room was filled with the miniature fig-
ures. They floated close to him and
smiled into his eye. He smiled in re-
turn. But now there was madness in
his brain. His smile was the drooling
leer of an idiot.

He remembered the wrench. He
stooped and lifted it from the tool
chest. Slowly, with shambling steps,
he started to the opening. The wrench
hung loosely from his finger tips.

The voices urged him on.

"The machine," they trilled, "destroy
it, Reinhold. Yes, yes, destroy it! "

The grin on Shmutz's face became
alive. It became a mad, rollicking
laugh. He stood above the opening and
roared with laughter.

"Yes," he screamed, "destroy the ma-
chine. And you tool For good this
time."

He lifted the heavy wrench above
his head and hurled it — straight at
one of the Z-ray tubes. He never knew
whether it struck or not. As it crossed
the path of rays there was a huge
burst of blinding, golden light.

A thousand needles came alive in
the brain of Reinhold Shmutz. Horrible,
burning pain gnawed its way into every

THE LIFE MACHINE

fibre of his body. He staggered back,
his fingers clawing at his throat, his
face, his body. A hundred hammers
struck sledge-like blows at his skull.
He reeled away from the machine. His
feet stumbled over something and he
fell to the floor. Blindly he reached
out and he felt his fingers touch warm
flesh.

For one last second he saw again —
saw a face close to his own, looked
into triumphant eyes, and felt twisted
flesh with his finger tips. Then he
closed his eyes — forever.

^""JIMME was excited.

"I was walking down Michigan
Avenue, when it came to me," he be-
gan. Slipworm nodded his head and
opened the door. His hand stopped in
its tracks. He had reached for the
light switch. It was an unconscious
gesture. But the gesture was not com-
pleted. Nor was what Gimme had be-
gun to explain.

The lights were on in the laboratory.
And so was the machine. They could
hear its hum, strangely muted now.
Their eyes, however, were riveted on
the two bodies near the control board.

"It's Clarice and Smitty," Gimme
whispered. He ran forward and knelt
beside the bodies. Slipworm joined
him. They saw that the man's fingers
were embedded in the girl's throat. A
look of unutterable horror and agony
was on his face. They thought it
strange that her face was so composed.
She had died a violent death, yet she
looked as though she died happy.

Tears coursed down Gimme's cheek.
His fingers caressed the flesh of her
cheek. Then Slipworm said:

"Best call the police. There is noth-
ing we can do for them."

The thick-bodied police lieutenant
watched Gimme pace up and down for
several seconds. The bodies had been

removed. He was head of the homicide
detail and he had remained to ask the
necessary questions. Bewilderment
fought with anger in his face.

"Stop that," he barked at Gimme.
"And come back here. I gotta ask you
some questions."

"Damn you," Gimme stopped and
cursed in reply. "I've answered all
your questions."

"Easy, Gimme," Slipworm cautioned.
"This is necessary. Let us be reason-
able."

Gimme's face looked tortured.

"What the hell does he want of us?
A blind man could see what happened.
This Shmutz strangled poor Clarice.
How the hell do I know how he died?
What's more, I don't care. The rat
deserved it."

"I agree," said the lieutenant. "We
searched his apartment and found
enough evidence to have a dozen men
shot. He was a saboteur. There was
a little notebook with a record of his
sabotage. He was a hell of a busy
guy. And this girl, this Clarice Le
Clair, was his accomplice, poor kid.
Y'know," he said in retrospect, "there's
something wrong with all those guys.
They're not satisfied with just doing
these things; they got to brag about
'em.

"This guy was no exception. That's
how we know about the girl."

^"MMME had stopped his pacing and
was listening, all attention now.

"Sure," the policeman continued,
"this guy had it all written down. How
this girl's kid brother is a prisoner of
war and how he blackmailed her into
thinking if she didn't do as he said,
the Germans would torture him. Seems
silly people fall for that stuff, but they
do. She did!

"There was lots more there. Espe-
cially about you, Professor."

106

AMAZINS STORIES

"About me?" the professor stared.

"Yep. You and this machine you
made. Didn't make sense. What's it
all about?"

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. But that is
something I can tell only to an author-
ized agent of the Government."

"I'm afraid you're gonna do just
that," said the lieutenant. "I'm waiting
for the head of the F.B.I, now. He'll
be here any minute."

They didn't have long to wait. A tall,
gray-haired man came into the room.

"So you are Professor Slipworm," he
said in greeting, as he shook Slipworm's
hand. "After reading Shmutz's auto-
biography, I am very much interested
in you. You and this machine that
Shmutz thought would win the war
for Germany."

"Not for Germany, sir. For us!"

"That's good. Glad to hear it."
There was a smile in the other's voice.
"Tell me more."

So Slipworm told of his experiment.
He concluded by saying:

"Gimme called me. I picked him up
in the Loop and we drove out here.
He told me that he had solved the
mystery of why it doesn't reproduce
in entirety. Then we opened the door
and — that was all."

The government man turned to
Gimme and said:

"So you know the answer, do you?"

"Sure," Gimme replied. "It was there
all the time, only we didn't see it." He
walked to the control board.

"See this," he pointed to the large
dial. "Well, that's got one hundred
and eighty degrees on it. In other
words, it's a half circle. When the
pointer reaches the last notch, the ma-
chine is really only at half power!
Naturally, when it starts reproducin',
there's somethin' always missing. The
idea is to get a dial with the full three
hundred and sixty degrees on it. Grad-

uate the whole power through the cir-
cle. Then, an' I'll bet my life on it,
it'll do what it's supposed to do."

Slipworm had turned the machine
off, when the police came. Now the
Government man said:

"Let's have a demonstration of this
wonder machine."

Slipworm set it going. When the
dial reached the point where the ma-
chine was ready to receive material,
the agent offered his watch.

"Oh no, there'll be something missing
from it," Slipworm reminded him.

"Go ahead," the other said. "It's
not an expensive one. If it comes back
ruined, I'll get another and let you
use it when you have this thing all set
up."

'JpHE professor smiled and took the
watch. They watched the miracle
of disintegration and came back to the
control board. Gimme gave the pointer
its final twist. In a few seconds the
watch reappeared. Gimme brought it
back and they all looked at it. There
was nothing wrong with it! Nothing
was missing from it!

Quickly the professor set the metal
ball spinning. In a few seconds hun-
dreds of watches appeared on the light
spirals. Nor could anything wrong be
found with any of them.

"Gimme," the professor chortled in
glee. "It works! The dream is reality.
My Life Machine — it works!"

"Yes, I see it does." There was
awe and a profound respect in the
F.B.I, man's voice. "But why is it
working now?"

Where Gimme found the words, he
didn't know. They were in his mouth
and said before he could think:

"The professor called it his Life Ma-
chine. There is no life without a soul.
Maybe that's what happened. Clarice
gave her soul to the Life Machine."

A. MORRIS

ONE of the great sources of strength of the
American Army in this Second World War
has been the power of its artillery. Every
attack, every landing operation, every movement
of our armed forces is preceded by an intense ar-
tillery barrage designed to batter down the defenses
and break, the morale of the enemy. German pris-
oners claim that it is this overwhelming curtain
of firs that has made possible the quick successes
of the Allies.

Yet there is another barrage to which not just
one nation but the entire earth is subjected which
makes modern shell lire seem puny and ineffective.
It is the bomb load of meteors which ceaselessly
streak toward the earth.

It is a known fact that between the worlds
there are fragments of rock and metal, pieces of
disintegrated planets which, attracted by the grav-
ity of the earth, travel toward it at speeds ranging
from IS to SO miles a second. Compare that speed
to our fastest airplane or even to the velocity of a
bullet and you can begin to understand the force
and strength of these special bombs.

Yet it is this very speed which protects the Earth
and its inhabitants from destruction by the
meteors. For as they enter the atmosphere the
friction caused by their passage through the air,
together with the resistance of the air itself heats
the meteor so that it completely dissipates before
it reaches the area 50 miles above the Earth. It
is estimated that only one in a probable 20 million
ever reach the surface of the Earth itself and then,
the power of the meteor's fall has been so weak-
ened that the landing takes place gently with no
marked effect.

* * *

|~\0 YOU know that many animals have— like
we do — definite patterns of family organiza-
tion? It is not known whether Uncle Ed Chim-
panzee lives in the "guest room" for three months,
or whether Cousin Matilda Kangaroo plays the
radio till midnight every night, but pretty much
is known about the private family organization
of one animal, the baboon.

The baboon family group consists of a male
overlord, his female or females, together with their
young, and may sometimes include one or more
"bachelors" or unmated males. Although these
bachelors are not an essential element in the party,

they have been observed to remained attached to
it for as long as a year. Their interests seems to
be held by the group mainly because of the fe-
males ; but sometimes the overlord appears to
attract them as followers.

"Bigamy" — a taboo in our society — is not so
common among the baboons either. No, they like
"trigaray," "quadrigamy," and the higher orders
of polygamy ! One male, the biggest in the group
owned eight females; three had three each; three
had two each ; and five just had one mate.
* * *

'"PHE future of the human race is in great peril.
1 Scientists claim that the declining birth rate
is reaching alarming proportion. They maintain
that the attitudes of modern urban couples have
reached a dangerously negative point of view in
regard to children. It is no longer considered
"fashionable" to raise a large family.

Dr. S. Thompson of the Scripps Foundation for
Population Research asserts that "there is no fu-
ture for a nation if a considerable part of its peo-
ple persistently refuse to reproduce." City popu-
lations are not reproducing themselves, and rural
populations are no longer able to make up the
deficit.

Statistics show that, on the average, thirty per
cent of the urban women are childless and twenty
per cent more have only one child each. Science,
rather than blaming itself for providing the devices
which have made child-birth largely a matter of
choice, now chooses to place the burden of blame
upon a society that has suddenly ceased to or-
their lives around children. Instead, ara-
revolve around the achievement of purely
selfish desires, the acquisition of goods, luxuries
which can be purchased with the dollars saved
by not raising a family.

The future of the world is in great danger. The
prosperous, the dominant groups refuse to propa-
gate themselves as a matter of choice, while in the
areas of disease and ignorance, of famine and hard-
ship, people are reproducing themselves in great
numbers. The disastrous turn the history of the
last fifty years has taken, a turbulent history which
resulted in two World Wars, has made the death
rate far higher than the birth rate. It is estimated
that World War I turned back Great Britain's
home population at least one generation.

107

INVASION
DUST

By DON WILCOX

A man made of iron couldn't have gotten
that message through; but a man of stone could!

JUNE sixth — the invasion — at last!
The zero hour had struck. All at
once the thick gray skies and
leaden waters between England and
France became the world's busiest
traffic-way. Four thousand ships, num-
berless troops, gliders, guns and tanks
streamed eastward to strike the German
beast.

"And to think that Big-Noise Bill had
lived for this day," Lou Wagner mut-
tered as he threaded his way through
the plane's strange cargo. "If Big-
Noise hadn't volunteered to substitute
for that sick Looey on the Sunday milk
run, he'd be with us this morning. But
he would volunteer."

"He would," Captain Marchand
echoed.

With his usual ease March sat in the
pilot's seat waiting for the take-off sig-
nal. Any minute now. The motors
roared with eager thunder. Above the
field lights, the skies were graying.
Nine planes abreast, the vast air trains
were taking to flight. Already the in-

109

vasion was two or three hours old. Every
passing minute heightened the fever of
those awaiting their turns.

March appeared as cool as ever.
But Lou Wagner knew that the vet-
eran pilot was alert to everything as
he sat there, dryly commenting about
their late friend.

"Big-Noise was a kind of supersti-
tious cuss."

"He was fatalistic about this day,
you know," Wagner admitted. "But
he figgered his luck would hold till the
invasion began."

"You say the ack-ack got him
through the heart?"

"Damned close to it. My girl and I
had a few words with him in the hos-
pital. He was dying. God, if it hadn't
been for the weather holding us back
a day it wouldn't have happened."

"It's no good talking about it," said
March. He set his hand to the stick.
A few more seconds to wait. His voice
softened to a low mumble. "Big-Noise
was an all-right guy. He and I had our

110

AMAZING STORIES

disagreements — his superstitions, for
one thing. But he was okay."

"Sure. You should have heard the
way he talked to Helene and me."
Wagner took a deep breath. "It's hell
he couldn't have lived. He had a spe-
cial mission for today, you know."

The motors accelerated. "All set,
Lou? . . . Here we go ... "

The plane rose. With the sickening
sensation, Lou Wagner's thoughts
whirled back to the momentous busi-
ness at hand. This was invasion! This
was it. And there was a thrill about
it that made one's heart beat wildly.

He glanced through the left window.
Eight planes formed the V beyond his
left wing. Along with them he and
March were sliding up through the
semi-darkness with all the ease of a re-
hearsal flight.

Now he looked back through the
darkness of the plane's interior to sur-
vey his fifty-seven straw passengers.
These were secret weapons of a sort —
fifty-seven straw dummies that would
ride down like sky troopers on para-
chutes and set off explosions to con-
fuse the enemy.

They were riding quietly — all but
the fifty-seventh. For some reason
that dummy in the rear of the plane
had shaken out of position and was
lying upon the other dummies' heads,
its arms outstretched. It was moving.
It was crawling forward.

"Who's there?" Wagner snapped. He
reached for his pistol.

"It's me," said a low, thick voice.
Darkness obscured the face. But that
voice was like something returned from
the dead. The figure groped its way
forward until Wagner could see that
the features were those of Big-Noise
Bill.

March, half turning, barked. "What
you got back there, Lou?"

"I guess we've got Bill Bradford."

Lou Wagner's slow-spoken words
sounded like an announcement of
ghosts. His throat tightened.

"I thought he was dead." March
turned his head long enough to stare full
into Big-Noise Bill's face. "I thought
you were — "

"Dead, huh?" The ghost himself
spoke. "Maybe I am. But I'm still
flesh and blood. And I couldn't miss
the invasion."

For no reason, Lou Wagner gave a
nervous laugh. But neither Bill's
looks nor his tone of voice were any-
thing to laugh at. His chest had
caught a bullet. Wagner knew that for a
fact — and less than twenty-four hours
ago he had been on the point of death.
Now he clambered down to his feet, a
man sick and in pain. His gaunt face,
his hollow eyes, his expressionless lips
made Lou Wagner shudder.

Marchand, at the controls, was too
busy to catch these details. He
seemed to think Wagner had deceived
him, and he kept up a low, disturbed
mumbling.

Big-Noise spoke again, in a slow,
heavy voice. "Don't be sore because I
showed up, March."

"Hell, man, we're glad to see you.
Damned glad — you now that." March
tossed a reassuring look over his
shoulder. "It's just the shock of seeing
you alive, after a halfway honest guy
like Lou says — "

"And don't blame Lou. If you want
to blame anyone blame his girl friend.
Just before I passed out, she fixed me
up with this. That is, her zany uncles
did."

His gesture toward his puffed out
chest referred to some concealed ban-
dages, Wagner supposed. Wagner's
eyes must have widened as he took in
the manifest facts. Some miracle had
occurred. Helene's "zany uncles"— it
was he himself who had called them

INVASION DUST

111

zany, for Big-Noise Bill had termed
them geniuses from the start — had evi-
dently come through with a life-saving
experiment. Wagner wondered.

'JpHE plane was moving over the chan-
nel. The morning light grew whiter,
though gray mists blanketed wide
patches of the lead-blue sea. The three
men, as silent as their fifty-six com-
panions of straw and cloth, gazed down-
ward, trying to take in all the signs of
movement around and beneath them.
What they couldn't see they could guess.
The sea and air were alive with armies
and arms. The vanguard of this
mighty military machine had at last es-
tablished a path — perhaps a score of
paths.

"Ack-ack!" Big-Noise couldn't have
said it in a more ominous tone. Not
a tone of terror, but one of cold fatalism.
A few tracer bullets came up through
the gray like strings of red beads. One
of them thumped through the left wing.
Soon the stream of red dots fell short.

"The coast is under us, anyway,"
Wagner observed with something of re-
lief. Somehow he had expected these
skies to be thick with enemy resistance.
So far the chief problem was to watch
out for other Allied planes and gliders.
They were everywhere.

The sky train roared on. There was
a breathing spell, and Wagner took ad-
vantage of it.

"Here, Big-Noise. Let's see that
chest. You've got some explaining to
do."

What he found within Bill's shirt
could hardly be called a bandage. It
was a metal instrument that glistened
like a band master's silver helmet. It
was fastened firmly over Bill's heart
with girdings of black tape. In gen-
eral outlines the arms of tape extending
from the conical metal plate looked like
a giant insect.

"What the devil are you doing with
a silver spider nesting on your chest?"

Big-Noise motioned Wagner closer.
"Can you hear it? It's ticking like a
clock. Your zany uncles — "

"An artificial heart?"

"A crude heart, they said. They'll
tell you everything — they and Helene.
She went to them as soon as you left,
and within an hour they slipped into
the hospital to see me. Since I was
dying anyway I had nothing to lose."

"But you're not dying. They've given
you life!"

The tall, hollow-eyed Bill shook his
head slowly. "Remember a few hours
ago when I put Helene's hand in yours.
Remember what I told her? You'd be
back. But me — the little birdies have
told me my time is about up."

"But now — with this artificial heart

"It's a heart with a clock. It's tick-
ing off my last hours," said Big-Noise
Bill in his quietest voice. "Ask our
girl friend — your girl friend, I mean.
She'll tell you all about it. I always
told you she was a mysterious person.

CHAPTER II
Helene Danzeile's Uncles

'"jpHEY had met her in April, two
months before the invasion. They
had first seen her giving a beggar a coin
in the park. She had hurried on her
way. They had followed, at a safe dis-
tance, betting each other that she was
bound for some swanky palace. In-
stead, she led them a merry chase to the
slums, and there she met a group of
ragged children. The party of them
went on to the first vacant lot, and
there she went to work helping the kids
make a garden.

"What do you know about that?"

112

AMAZING STORIES

Big-Noise had said. "I still think she's
an actress. Those jewels. That face.
That chassis — "

"Why don't we walk up and get ac-
quainted," Lou Wagner had sug-
gested.

"What, with all those kids around
her?"

"I think I'd like a date with her."

"Two of us. Of all the girls I've
seen in England — but we wouldn't have
a chance with her."

"You go on back to headquarters,"
said Wagner. "I'm gonna help those
kids plant radishes."

So Big-Noise and Wagner spent the
afternoon spading up a vacant lot
while the slum kids asked a lot of
bright-eyed questions about America,
and Helene Danzelle looked on with
amusement.

A few evenings later she met them
at an amusement palace, and this time
the sight of her fairly knocked them
off the Christinas tree. She wore a white
tailored suit and enough bright colored
ornaments to start a jewelry shop. One
of her gold bracelets was at least two
inches wide. One of her rings was set
with a huge topaz, which, Wagner
noted, was a perfect match for her yel-
lowish amber eyes. Her hair was red-
dish gold in bold waves that hung
loosely at her shoulders.

Her dazzling beauty was enhanced
by a theatrical manner. Wagner
whispered to Big-Noise that he had her
all figured out to be some famous
European actress.

Big-Noise was the first to dance
with her. But Wagner strolled through
the court garden with her and was get-
ting along fine until Big-Noise came
out to join them.

Helene Danzelle could laugh readily.
She could make them forget their in-
tense minutes of riding bombers over
the continent. But she had little to say

about herself, and Bill Bradford, with
his weakness for superstitions and
mystical ideas, would say to Lou in
confidence, "I'll bet there are a thou-
sand skeletons in her family closet.
Who is she anyway? What do we
know about her family? Does she
have a father and a mother?"

"She has two uncles — her father's
brothers," said Lou, "if that makes
any difference to you."

"It's uncanny the way she knows
things before they happen. She tries
to conceal her knowledge, but, by
George, I'd bet a case of whiskey
she already knows the invasion date.
You just listen when she starts talking,
and see how much you can read be-
tween the lines."

But Lou preferred not to bother
his head about such matters. She was
a good-looking girl, a clever girl, a
friendly girl. And she was coming his
way.

QN THE afternoon that Lou Wagner
and Helene had their first date
alone, Bill crashed the party. He
found the couple in a booth, eating
sandwiches and cracking wise. They
didn't look too happy to see him walk
up.

But Bill Bradford was on fire with
big talk about the recent raids on the
Reich. He just had to talk — and
loud. When he was in a mood like this,
about all that his friend Lou could say
was, "Now you see why we call him
Big-Noise."

That was enough to say. The name
did him in. Once he had been proud
of it. But his big noise didn't go
over with Helene. From that day on
he preferred to date Lou alone.

"There's something mysterious about
that girl," was about all Bill could
say.

Then he met her two uncles. If she

INVASION DUST

113

was mysterious, they were positively
weird. All of Bill Bradford's super-
stitions rose to the surface from the
first hour he talked with them. In
fact, that was why he took to the old
codgers.

"Would you believe, young man, that
we can see your fortune in a jeweled
kaleidoscope?" one of them said.

"I've had my fortune told before,"
said Bill, alert with interest, "but never
by a kaleidoscope.

The two uncles led him into the
circular, ivory-walled room where the
roof of glass showered sunlight on the
bright upright object in the center of
the floor. But for the moment Bill
was most interested in the comic ap-
pearance of the two old men.

Both were in their sixties. One was
tall, thin, and droopy; the other was
short, chunky, and full of snap. The
latter did most of the talking, and he
vigorously waggled his broad head of
fluffy white hair that must have been
cut to the pattern of an inverted bowl.
He had a frog voice.

"I'm a doctor and a scientist," he
croaked. "But all of Helene's friends
call me Uncle Pete."

"They call me Uncle Rudy," cackled
the tall, thin one, caressing his long
gray beard. "I'm an architect, a
chemist, an artist, an electrician, and
too many other things to mention."

"Mostly he's conceited," Uncle
Pete added. "Come this way, Lieu-
tenant Bradford — "

"Just call me Bill," said Big-Noise,
in the interests of being congenial,

"Good. Here, Bill, is the most re-
markable machine for seeing the past,
the present and the future that our two
master minds could devise. A jeweled
kaleidoscope, — "

"It was my idea," Uncle Rudy put
in, slumping langorously in one chair
and hooking his feet over another.

"All Pete did was build it."

"It's a kaleidoscope," Uncle Pete
continued, "containing some of the
rarest jewels of India. You never know
what it's going to tell you next — that
is, unless you bother to ask some
specific question. For example — "

"The invasion date turned up yester-
day," Uncle Rudy volunteered. His
curt brother hushed him with a snap
of the fingers, and Uncle Rudy, just
teasing, cackled with laughter. "Aw, I
wouldn't tell, Pete, not really."

"Here we are, Bill," said Uncle Pete
with a brisk effort to restore his ruffled
dignity. "Step right up."

'JpHE object in the center of the room
was a four-foot chromium cylinder
mounted on a little pyramid of black
marble. You could step up three steps,
lean on a brass rail, and look straight
down into the cylindrical shaft to see
what was going on.

Uncle Pete touched a button. The
drums at the base began to rotate like
overlapping roulette wheels. Bill
looked in. What he saw was dazzling
bright light spinning in a thousand little
flickers of color.

Then the spinning slowed down to a
stop, and the lighted jewels fell into
chance arrangements. The triangle of
mirrors in the cylinder's walls turned
the pattern into a perfect hexagon.
Every jewel that shone through that
elaborate design seemed to have been
placed with a miraculous precision.

"It's a wonderful jumble of color,"
Bill mumbled uncertainly. "What am
I supposed to see?"

"It's no jumble," said Uncle Pete. "A
jumble is something without meaning.
Every hexagon that turns up is super-
charged with meaning. Only you have
to learn to read them. It's much more
difficult than crystal gazing."

"Well, I don't see any meaning to

114

AMAZING STORIES

this present arrangement of color."

"Let's have a look," said Uncle
Pete impatiently. "Let me see. Ahl
Ahhh! It's coming clear — yes. A
chance bit of history. This is a scene of
the ancient barbarians moving down on
Europe."

Uncle Rudy scoffed. "Barbarians!
Whenever Pete can't make it out he
calls it barbarians moving down on
Europe. Let me see."

He undraped himself from the chairs
and bent over the rail. "Hmmm. It's
a scene from the end of a new ice age
twenty-five thousand years in the
future — and — aha! yes, indeed, there
they come — new hordes of barbarians
moving down on Europe."

The two old codgers fell to arguing
as to whether they saw the ancestral
grandfather of Attila the Hun or one of
the illegitimate descendants of Hitler
the Beast. Bill, for once, sat back and
made no big talk.

Uncomfortable was the word for any
of Bill's silences, for they gave him
time to face the fact that most of his
habitual bluster was a screen to hide his
own uncertainties. He lived in a private
world of uncertainties that hinged on
luck, good or bad. He was always on
the lookout for symptoms of chang-
ing luck. It was his habit to carry a
pocket full of charms when he made his
flights over Germany. Any little dis-
turbance could puff up into a supersti-
tion. Once he had actually begged
off because of a premonition that he
would be a jinx that day, for the bomb-
ing crew.

And yet, for all his superstitions, Bill
was no coward.

"Enough of this arguing," Uncle Pete
said, "We must entertain our guest.
Helene asked us to be nice to him so she
could stay out longer with his friend."

"Telling his fortune might be nice,"
said Uncle Rudy. "Again, it might

not. We never know what to expect."

r J , HEY both turned to him and asked
him to concentrate on his own
future. For five minutes he concen-
trated while they allowed the drums to
spin. The light of whirling gems
flashed in criss-crossing paths of
spangles all around the ivory room.
Then the drum came to a stop.

"There it is," said Uncle Rudy.

Uncle Pete's fluffy white hair fell
across his cheeks as he bent over the
cylinder. When he looked up his comi-
cal face was strangely grave.

Uncle Rudy looked too, and he
started walking away slowly without
looking at Bill. "We'd better not tell
you." The laughter had gone out of
his voice.

"What's up?" Bill said reproachfully.
"I can take it."

He walked across and peered into the
cylinder. The jeweled pattern was
much bolder and darker than before,
a hexagon heavy with dark reds and
bordered with a stony gray. '

"Come on, what's the dope?" Bill in-
sisted.

"You'd better wear a shield over your
heart," said Uncle Pete. "About the
time of the invasion there might be a
bullet with your name on it. Maybe
several."

Bill spoke loud and nervously.
"Hell, that don't surprise me. Why
should I be surprised, just as long as I
get to do my part in the invasion. That's
what I'm living for, isn't it?"

" You'll have plenty of steel in your
tissue about that time."

"You're talking in puzzles," said
Bill. "Do you mean steel nerves? Of
course — "

"You'll have a special mission for
General Eisenhower. An errand to the
French Underground. Don't fail him."

Bill's eyebrows raised skeptically.

INVASION DUST

"I don't quite fathom that."

"Always remember," said Uncle
Rudy, "that we're good at mending
broken hearts." '

"Double talk again," Bill muttered.
"If you think I'm in love with your
niece — well, I'm not. Not much."

"Don't be," said Uncle Pete, shaking
his white locks. "A man who isn't com-
ing back shouldn't fall in love."

"Hmmp. Pretty sure of yourselves,
aren't you," Bill muttered with a show
of temper.

But the two uncles paid no attention
to his mood, now. They were pacing
the floor, handing out puzzling com-
ments right and left. Uncle Rudy came
to him with medicine bottle.

"Better drink from this every day."

"What is the stuff?"

"Liquid stone and steel. It's the juice
of a cathedral mixed with the nectar of
an iron statue. Drink a little every
day."

Bill took a sip of the cherry-red
liquor. It tasted like fire. They put
the bottle in his hip pocket when they
led him to the door.

"Liquid stone and steel," Bill echoed
as he walked down the street. "Now
what did they mean by that?"

At the first corner he was accosted by
a messenger from the Supreme Allied
Command, who said, "Are you Lieu-
tenant Bradford? . . . I've been look-
ing for you. You're to report to Eisen-
hower headquarters tomorrow for a spe-
cial D-Day assignment."

CHAPTER III

Under Wafer to the Underground

'pHE wind roared past the open side
of the plane. D-Day was on, full
blast, and March, Big-Noise Bill, and
Wagner, riding over the thick of it, had
already seen action aplenty. Now Wag-

ner hurled the straw dummies with the
one-two-three rhythm of a machine.
They parachuted down slowly.

The first of them struck, at last, hun-
dreds of feet below. It gave off a burst
of fire.

The second landed and exploded. A
third and a fourth blast of flame could
be seen, following in rapid succession.
Bill Bradford's heavy eyelids widened
to see the effect. On a hillside far to
the northeast a detachment of Nazi sol-
diers broke out of position and came
racing down the long slope, on foot and
in cars, to surround these noisy sky-
borne troops of straw.

Meanwhile, Lou Wagner kept up the
machine-like efficiency. Bill tried to
help him, toward the last. It was a mis-
take. A dizziness caught Bill and he
sank to his knees.

Lou turned to offer a hand.

"Hell, don't stop for me," Bill
growled. He shook a fist at the door, a
gesture for the enemy. Lou took the
hint and went on heaving dummies.

The awful feeling in Bill's chest was
growing tighter, but it was not the same
feeling he had had when he thought,
yesterday, that he was dying. That had
been a weakening, fading, far-awayness,
like the slow oozing of air out of a bal-
loon. This was different— a heaviness
—an exaggerated sensitivity to every
thread of pain.

He put a bottle to his lips. He drained
the last of its fiery red liquor and tossed
it out the open side of the plane. He
lay down on his side, resting his para-
chute pack against the floor, and closed
his eyes.

Then he felt the plane banking and
he roused up.

"On east, March. You know the orig-

Captain Marchand scowled back at
him. "We're not going to let a sick man
parachute down."

116

AMAZING STORIES

"Sick or dead, I'm going on according
to plan." Bill fished in his pocket for
his order from the supreme command.
"This is still valid."

Marchand shrugged and accepted the
suggestion. He swung the plane on to
the east. He grumbled, "We'll respect
that order, but Lou or I will do the dirty
work, not you."

"There'll be no argument about that,
either." Bill held a pistol. "I've got
orders to deliver my goods in per-
son ..."

pjE PARACHUTED down where a
peasant was plowing a long furrow,
apparently oblivious to the invasion
furor all around him. The furrow
pointed south across the field toward a
brown thicket with a barely perceptible
outcropping of brown rocks. This was
right. The peasant went on plowing,
and that was right, too. Bill climbed
out of his harness and stumbled along
on heavy feet. The thicket swallowed
him up . . .

High overhead, Lou Wagner stared
down as long as he could see that field.
. "Great guy, Bill," Lou said. "Kinda
noisy, but he's got plenty of guts."

"Great guy," March echoed. "Super-
stitious as a fox, but I'm damned if his
superstition didn't get him back on his
feet. Or something did. What the devil
was that thing pumping him back to
life?"

"Ill ask Helene about it. Whatever
it was, it was turning him gray. Did
you notice his chest?"

"What about it?"

"It looked like a chunk of con-
crete ..."

"yHREE or four times, through the
long dark tunnel, Bill stopped to tap
a small stone against his chest. Then
he tapped it against the stone wall to
compare the sounds. The heaviness that

gathered was more than tired muscles
and constitutional fatigue.

But the heaviness, so much like stone,
was by no means a numbness. It was
full of intricate feelings, as if the tissues
of his heart and lungs and pectoral mus-
cles were turning into a filigree of steel
nerves and leaden cells.

When he stopped for a moment of
rest, he could hear the slow, rhythmic
ticking of the big artificial heart locked
upon his chest.

The dark tunnel opened on a river;
above him was the viaduct that he had
expected. The bright afternoon light
stung his eyes. Far away the thunder of
big guns sounded. Between the waves
of explosions he could hear the sharp
click of Nazi boots on the steel viaduct
overhead.

He meant to cross that river by the
passage known to the Underground.
Five hundred paces downstream there
would be a junk heap— but five hundred
paces were no longer an accurate meas-
ure to Bill Bradford. His feet were
gathering weight. His steps were short.

He held to the shadows of the slop-
ing bank. Once he looked back to the
viaduct. The German guards hadn't
seen him. Their eyes were on the look-
out for plane attacks.

Five hundred paces downstream Bill
crept toward a heap of broken stones
and rotten wood'that had once been a
fisherman's dwelling. Something moved
amid the ruins. Bill began to sing, in
his dusty throat, some old folk song.
The movement became a beckoning
arm. Bill moved into the passageway
on hands and knees. He must hurry.
A squadron of allied planes was ap-
proaching, taking in numerous targets
along the river.

The Frenchman who guarded the con-
duit through the river could not speak
English, but he appeared immensely sat-
isfied with Bill's papers. He showed a

INVASION DUST

glow of appreciation at the gift of a
chocolate bar. But when Bill offered
him a good luck charm, he couldn't un-
derstand, and refused.

Bill crawled down into the curved,
corrugated metal pipe that ran under
the water. It was a strange way to
cross a river. The long metal tube was
too narrow for his long body to proceed
on hands and knees. He crawled with
difficulty. Solid blackness. Metallic
echoes flowing from one end of the con-
duit to the other. The echoes of his
own stony hands slipping over the cor-
rugations. Echoes — and suddenly an
ear-splitting bolt of thunder !

B 1 a m m m m ! Balooombahhrr !
Thrummb-thrummb-crasssh!

The explosion seemed only a matter
of yards away. The corrugated metal
passage bounced with the impact. It
ripped, at some point back of Bill. The
black waters poured in like a flood. He
was caught.

tJE WAS caught halfway across the
river, many feet under its surface,
and now his metal tunnel had snapped
like macaroni under the impact of a
bombing explosion. That's what had
happened. He knew it instantly. Al-
lied bombs were dropping over the via-
duct a few rods upstream.

Two more bombs 1 And from the up-
roar that beat against the conduit, the
whole viaduct might have been rolling
down upon him. The end of a mission,
he thought. Water struck him from
both ends of his metal trap. Caught like
a rat. If only he could have delivered
before this happened!

He held his breath. He clawed at the
corrugated metal. The slime and black
water went through his clothing, swept
over his arms, filled in around his tick-
ing metal heart. He reared his head high
against the top of the pipe. The water
filled his ears, splashed onto his cheeks,

swept into his nostrils.

He was completely compressed, with
no chance to breathe. Breathing was a
thing of the past. These were last sec-
onds to be filled with that last dizzying
whirl of thoughts —

Yes, the allied bombers had done well
by that viaduct. And all the ugly
enemy on it, and countless hundreds or
thousands more who might have used it
as an escape to Cherbourg would be a
part of this triumph. Bill's life was a
small price to pay, he realized. If only
he could have delivered!

A last choking moment of life, it
seemed. The thumping of debris against
the pipe struck with new thunder. Bill
had a premonition that life might be
crushed out of him by stone and steel
from the bombed viaduct before this
long moment of drowning snuffed him
out.

Then, suddenly, he was being lifted.

A ripping of metal and a slushing of
the black flood around him accom-
panied his lift. The section of pipe that
held him was being hurled upward . . .
Air!

He breathed with a gratefulness that
was like a prayer. Above him was a
circle of blue sky. For the moment
the torn conduit had been upended by
the jostle of debris that had pounded it
and bounced it out of position.

DILL clung for dear life. Then he
climbed. Within a few seconds he
reached the top of the jagged metal
opening. He looked out. The pipe that
held him stuck up like an immense mud-
washed smokestack, hanging at a steep
angle above the boiling river. Upstream
—no viaduct I Only ruins, twisted and
matted and thrown in all directions.

A few of the Germans had escaped
with their lives, and Bill could hear
them shouting back and forth as they
tried to recover their own wounded.

118

AMAZINS STORIES

Bill dropped off the jagged end of the
pipe. He fell only a few feet to the
water. The shore he wanted was hardly
twenty yards away — a hard enough
fight for his painful, throbbing body,
but he knew he could make it.

He dragged himself up the bank like
a mud-soaked turtle in a shell of lead.

Freedom from death I He breathed
the sweet thought. Another chance to
do —

The enemy boots pounded over the
bank. The enemy pistols blazed fire.
The first bullet sank deep into Bill's
head. He fell forward. And as he fell,
his body gathered other bullets.

CHAPTER IV
Living Dust

tTAD any man ever endured such
sensations before?
Bill's eyes were closed. One side of
his brain was numbed. The torn flesh
of his body cried out for mercy. And
yet he was poignantly aware that those
bullets had not brought on the normal
death.

The feelings of changing to a stony,
steely material came over him anew.
Through parts of his body the sensa-
tions were so vivid it was as if he could
see the thousands of separate strands of
human tissue — soft little silky threads
being transformed into a network of
taut piano wires ; bundles of muscle cells
filling out into hard slices of stone.
There was no bleeding from his wounds.
Any blood his tortured body might con-
tain was a different blood that worked
like living concrete.

Another strange awareness came to
him, as he lay on the river bank beneath
the darkening sky. The dust and smoke
of fighting that drifted slowly through
the air acted with something like a mag-
netic attraction for him. It oozed along

in misty streams and gathered over his
damp paratrooper boots.

He rose slowly to his feet. The two
miles between him and his destination
seemed a long distance to such heavy
stone feet.

Through the darkness he walked.

He shamed himself for being so slow.
He was distressed that his attention
should be so fully absorbed by the
strange labyrinth of tortured, ossifying
nerves. In these, the most dramatic
hours of all history, for all people — and
these wonderful, terrible sensations
from his own body continued to dom-
inate his thoughts. How long could
they go on without carrying him over
the final brink of death?

Late in the night he reached the ap-
pointed spot. The two miles of moving
as living stone must move — it could
hardly be called walking— had been
fought through to success. His left
arm bumped against the cellar door —
stone against rotting wood. He stood
there motionless, the pistol in his right
hand.

Three members of the underground
questioned him by turns, and when they
were convinced that he was the man
they expected, one of them ran through
the night to overtake the one comrade
who should receive the message. For
the key man in this set up had started
on his way a few minutes earlier, con-
vinced that the message from England
would not come through.

Bill's voice was strange to himself.
His jaws were almost paralyzed. He
forced the words like separate slabs of
marble being laid out, one weight at a
time.

"If . . . you ... are ... the .. . one,
. . . you . . . know . . . where ... the
. . . message . . . is."

HPHE Frenchman did know. He
reached to Bill's pistol, he un-

INVASION DUST

119

screwed a plate from the handle, re-
moved the papers. By candlelight he
scanned the contents eagerly and pock-
eted them. He called a few hasty or-
ders to the other members of this un-
derground .group. Then, with a touch
of courtesy, he replaced the plate on
the pistol handle and returned the
weapon to Bill's hand.

With hardening fingers Bill tightened
his grasp on the pistol. Yet there was
still enough flexibility from wrists to
fingertips that he gave a slight gesture
of farewell as the underground party
hurried away.

Back of him the candle still burned
as he fought his way slowly up the stone
steps.

He saw now, for the first time, what
ungainly things his shoe soles had be-
come. Wide oval slabs of mud and
stone and dust had grown fast to his
feet. As if his boots were mounted on
pedestals. The boots, too, were gray
and stony. His very clothing was turn-
ing to Stone. Somehow this did not
surprise him, now. For in these weird
hours of metamorphosis he had felt a
reaching out of his new nerves to every-
thing they could touch, bringing every-
thing in as a part of him.

His artificial heart was still ticking.
It no longer protruded, something apart
from him. It had moved inward to be-
come an integral part of him. He was
a creature of that heart.

It was still ticking when he came to
a dead stop in the center of a deserted
village.

Pink dawn rose above the war clouds.
Great battles would come again today.
And he would stand here, unable to
move any farther.

Standing motionless, he gave way to a
sort of sleep. His pain was beginning
to fade. This sensation of stupor was
most welcome.

He awoke abruptly. German troops

were hurrying through this village. Al-
lied bombers were swinging over. Build-
ings were crashing around him. Some
big guns must have picked this target.

He tried to turn his head. No, that
was no longer possible. But his eyes
would turn, and he could see what was
happening to him.

A stone structure was forming around
him — a sort of doorway that arched
over his head and down past his shoul-
ders.

Whenever a building's stone walls
fell in ruins, the dust swirled toward him
and swept around in fanciful lines. It
caught upon the stones of himself and
his ornamental arch. It settled. It
stuck. And so the arch grew.

Sometimes the Huns, hurrying past,
caught sight of him standing there. A
few of them squandered bullets on him.
But that made no difference now. In
fact, the bullets no longer penetrated
his flesh. They simply flattened against
his stone.

Miraculously, the big shells and fall-
ing bombs missed him. Sometimes he
thought they swerved out of their
courses to miss him. And so the morn-
ing's heavy action wore on. The vil-
lage buildings fell into ruins. The or-
namental living stone about him grew.
And he saw what was gradually coming
over him.

The death he had cheated two days
before was closing in on him at last.
A final numbness was slowly spreading
. . . Slowly ...

CHAPTER V
lll-Fated Rescue Party

Y ATE that afternoon, high above
the ruins of the viaduct, two Amer-
ican soldiers and an English girl baled
out of a crippled plane in time to para-
chute down to safety.

120

AMAZING STORIES

Captain Marchand was gloomy. He
would never admit to any superstitions
on his own part, but he had entertained
an unholy fear, from the start, that this
rescue venture would be ill-fated. The
smoke of invasion was too high to risk
a flight this far inland, even when the
man to be rescued was Lieutenant Bill
Bradford.

But Helene Danzelle had promoted
the plan so ardently that she had won
official approval. The truth was that
she had a pull. Her curious old uncles
were among the most valued scientists
in the allied cause. -

However, the task was a hopeless
one, now that the plane was gone. Lou
Wagner had come down out of the sky
a casualty. While Helene administered
first aid to his torn side, they and
Captain Marchand held their council
of war. This was enemy-held land.
Troops were moving through this val-
ley. There was little hope that Bill
Bradford, if living, would show his face
in daylight.

"All right, I was all wrong," Helene
Danzelle admitted regretfully. "I
shouldn't have started this rescue. But
Lou and I wanted so much to do some-
thing for Bill. And if there was any
chance that that artificial heart would
prove itself as a life-giving invention — "

"I'm afraid it didn't," said Lou.
"Bill himself seemed convinced that it
would only keep him going for a few
hours."

"What are we So <io then?"

"Save our own skins," said Captain
Marchand. "Without our plane that's
the only thing to do."

They slipped along from cover to
cover until they reached the ruined vil-
lage. This, according to their informa-
tion, would have been Bill Bradford's
point of contact with the Underground.
But there was no Underground left.
There was scarcely any village.

"No time for sight-seeing, Lou,"
Marchand snapped. Then he stared.
"What kind of thing is that? It looks
like a statue of a paratrooper, built into
a little cathedral."

"It looks like Bill!" Lou exclaimed.

They edged along the street cau-
tiously. Lou, with a wounded side, was
trying to keep pace without holding
the party back. Now they paused and
took cover in the ruins of a building.
Enemy motorcycles were coming over
the hill a half mile away.

"BUI!" Lou shouted. "Bill Bradford.
Is that you?"

"Shut up I" Captain Marchand
growled. "Get under this."

He dragged a wide flap of floor mat-
ting into the corner, and helped Helene
and Lou under it. By raising it to the
level of the battered stone window
frame they could peek out at the ap-
proaching motorcycle corps, without
being seen.

'~|~'HE Germans roared through. A few
of them turned their heads with
curiosity at the sight of a stone struc-
ture in the center of the street. It had
the ornamental qualities of a cathedral,
though it stood only twenty-five or
thirty feet high. Its graceful lines all
curved in such a way as to point up the
one central figure — the finely shaped
American paratrooper standing erect,
holding a black pistol in his right hand.

Obviously this was the only struc-
ture in the village that hadn't been
damaged by bombs and shells.

This fact must have annoyed one of
the last men in the motorcycle parade.
He stopped and stared back at the beau-
tiful stonework. The sneer on his face
told Lou Wagner that the elegance of
the monument struck him as an in-
sult. He drew his pistol and fired three
shots.

The shots had no effect on the stone

INVASION DUST

121

paratrooper. Only tie tiniest wisps
of dust sprayed from the chest of the
stone figure. The Nazi sped on to
catch up with his party.

Again Lou and his two companions
stared. How could any French
sculptor have dared to erect such a
statue?

"But is it a paratrooper?" Marchand
said. "Let's take a look."

They ventured out into the open as
far as they dared.

"By God, it's Bill," Lou said, " — the
very image of him I"

"It's the first monument to the in-
vasion," Helene said slowly. "I'm glad
it looks so much like someone we know.
Look how carefully the clothing has
been carved. And that black marble
gun—"

"How do you explain it, Helene?"
Marchand asked.
"I can't."

"If Bill Bradford were here he'd ask
you. He gave you credit for seeing
through every mystery that came up."

"He overrated me," said Helene.
"But my uncles — they might figure it
out. When the war is over I know
they'll want to see it. I hope — look!
The eyes!"

"What happened?"

"I thought they moved," Helene
gasped.

"They did move. I saw them," Lou
declared. "Bill I Bill — it is you, isn't
it! Bill, speak to usl"

From its gray stone shoes to the
gray stone of its shirt, the gray face
and eyes and eyelashes, it stood as mo-
tionless as any tombstone.

"You both better come away," Mar-
chand said. "You're seeing things.
The resemblance is going to your head.
It's easy to have hallucinations when
you're emotionally upset. Come on
away."

Marchand drove his point home by

picking up a small stone and tapping
the figure up and down. The clack of
rock against rock was the only response
he got. He watched the eyes intently
for a moment. They were stone eyes,
staring straight ahead.

"All right," said Lou. "It just got
the best of me for a moment." He saw
that Helene was weeping.

They scurried for cover again— too
late! Five of the soldiers had suddenly
walked out of the ruins from the outer
edge of the village. Lou reached for his
pistol.

Crack! The weapon was shot out of
his hands. Five men came on with
rifles ready. Marchand started to shoot
but must have thought better of it. He
dropped his pistol at his feet and raised
his hands. Five men came on with
wise.

'JpHE three of them, then, stood in
front of a battered stone wall that
might have given them protection if
they had been a moment quicker. The
two pistols at their feet were no more
useful than stones. The Germans
marched up, and their spokesman
growled in bad English.

"I'll do the talking," Marchand mut-
tered under his breath. Then he
shouted, "I wouldn't shoot. If you
shoot, you die!"

The big Hun's face twisted into what
was meant for a laugh. "Who dies?
Not us. And not the girl. She's to be
my prisoner."

"Stay where you are!" Marchand
snapped. "We've got guns on you from
three sides."

The big Nazi snarled. "I can't stand
such lies. Shoot the men. No, I'll
shoot them myself."

The big man lifted his rifle. In-
stantly it dropped from his hands.
Gunfire from somewhere in the neigh-
borhood of the stone statue caught him

122

AMAZING STORIES

in the side of the head. It brought
him down like a straw dummy.

Three other soldiers let go their guns
and hoisted their hands. The remain-
ing one hesitated to look for the source
of the pistol shot. Lou seized a fallen
weapon and took care of him. He
thumped down beside his leader.

In a flash Captain Marchand took
command, and the three living pris-
oners stood ready to do any Allied sol-
dier's bidding.

"You'll be useful in helping us get

back," said Marchand. "We'll start as
soon as it's dark. We'll have a fight-
ing chance to make it. Meanwhile —
by God, where did that shot come
from?"

"From the statue," said Lou. "I'm
going back and talk with it . . . You
never know how much stone ears may
hear."

"I'll go with you," Helene said. "I
want to leave a wreath of wild-flowers
to — to the men of the invasion."

THE END

JUST PLAIN WIZARDRY

By ARNOLD YOUNG

"TH 7" E ' VE S°t him dead to rights," Cap-
%/»/ tain Erickson shouted jubilantly over
" * the intercommunication system to his
navigator. "Fifty miles from our target and it is
as clfar as a bell. Stormy must have pulled a
boner this time."

Gerhardt at the bomb sight chuckled. "Don't
be too quick, Skipper. We're still not within sight
of our target. Don't count Stormy out until you
can pin him down. Remember the raid on — "

"Never mind that!" barked the Skipper good-
naturedly. "That was just a lucky shot. This
time the shoe is on the other foot. No man alive
can forecast three days in advance one cloud that
will exactly cover our bombing target. All the
adiabater charts and tephigians in the world can't
show the development of clouds that accurately.
No, sir! He's a dead duck on this forecast and
he'll stew in his own juice when we get back,"

Captain Erickson smiled. His mind went back
to that cramped, two by four weather station that
sat next to the Operations Building. It was kind
of pilot's "hangout" where they would sit for
hours and exchange details about the last mission,
the new Boche fighter tactics, the weather. Weath-
er, of course, was their pet subject. On a mission
it could be their most vital aid or their deadliest
enemy, and all of them were quick to admit their
dependence on it for protection. These weren't
cocky kids but old timers that knew that each
detail on a mission was vital if they were to hit
their targets and return in a recognizable con-
dition.

Besides, when they talked about the weather
they could always rib Stormy.

"How about a forecast for three weeks from
next Thursday, Stormy? I've got a date with a
munitions dump."

"What time three weeks from next Thursday?"
would be Stormy's quick reply, and the boys would

burst into laughter.

"I understand the C. 0. gave you . — for

that forecast for the Naples raid." This was
Captain Pannor, veteran of thirty-five missions,
talking. "What do you mean calling for alto-
cumulus clouds at 12,000 feet that don't show up
until 11,500. We've got to have greater accuracy,
Stormy. There's a war to win, you know."

"His altimeter setting must have been off,"
replied Stormy, his Irish brogue showing itself,
"besides, Johnny plotted a point on the adiabat
two millibars too high. It threw me off — but I
still say the C. O.'s altimeter was wrong." Again
the boys laughed. You could always count on a
sharp comeback from Stormy.

This good-natured ribbing was their feature ac-
tivity all the time. The pilots did it just to pro-
voke Stormy into replying because actually these
men had the highest respect for his masterful
knowledge of meterology, his crystal clear analyses,
and his almost wizard-like ability to weigh and
balance ail the elements that enter Into forecast-
ing and call his shots for specific missions. His
reputation had spread throughout the 12th Air
Force. "Stormy called it again" became a well-
worn expression.

His legal name was James Patrick Sullivan;
believe it or not. As a red-headed Irish kid, he
had fought all the fights that kids get into on
the streets of Boston. As a result, he entered
young manhood with a chipped Jaw and the mon-
iker Stormy.

In high school he calmed down considerably
devoting most of his efforts to the strange new
worlds of science that were opening up before him.
The name, of course, still stuck, but the explo-
sions only came now when he was stumped by the
problems of physics or disturbed by a tricky
equation in trigonometry.

His growing interest and inquisitiveness in the

JUST PLAIN WIZARDRY

123

fields of sceince prevailed when he began his col-
lege career. His courses were stuffed with analytic
geometry, calculus, x-ray physics, etc., but in his
last year he was forced to drop out for financial
reasons.

He worked at various jobs after he left school,
a chemical plant, a gauge engineering factory, any
place that could satisfy his desire to apply some
of the things he had absorbed in his abbreviated
college career.

Not long after Pearl Harbor he enlisted in the
army. At the classification center the officer in
charge decided Stormy's scientific background
could be best applied in weather in the Air Force.
Stormy was assigned to the Weather Observor
School.

No better choice could have been made. In
quick succession he graduated top man from ob-
servor school, was sent to a station for experience,
and after he had passed the stiff qualifying exam,
returned to school to study weather forecasting.
Here again his work was exceptional and after
graduation he was sent to an important air base
in the United States.

But the war was moving fast then. We had
already landed in North Africa and were proceed-
ing to put the squeeze on Rommel and his African
Corps. The work of the 12th Air Force was grow-
ing more important daily as they pounded the
supply routes, the communication center, and the
troop concentrations of the Desert Fox. The need
for fast, accurate reconnaisance, and hard, de-
vastating bombing attacks was vital if the Allies
were to rid the North African shores of the Nazis
quickly to get to the work of invading Europe.
Among the men called to provide the vital weather
forecasts was Stormy.

TTE CAME prepared. Forecasting is a science
AA and an art. It depends on a sound -back-
ground of knowledge of meterology, climatology,
physics, mathematics. It requires a mind that can
project the principles of these sciences to the vast
spaces, and the movement of air masses. It needs
imagination. It requires a mind that can weigh
and balance all the varying elements of pressure,
temperature, humidity, geographical influence, and
arrive at a simple, clear conclusion, Finally, it
requires the guts to make a conclusion and stick
by it when the fate of hundreds of men and mil-
lions of dollars in airplanes depends on the fore-
cast.

For when a raid is planned, a weather f orecaster
must provide the information vital to the mission's
success. He must tell the pilot what clouds he
will find on the way and over his target so that
he will know how high to fly to remain concealed,
and at what altitude bombing will be most suc-
cessful. He must be able to tell the pilot what
kind of clouds to expect and whether there will
be icing conditions present. The pilot must know
how fast the wind will be and from what direc-
tion so that he can choose a proper flying altitude.

He must know whether to expect any rain, snow,
or weather elements that will interfere with his
flight, or that he can possibly use to cover his re-
turn to his base. He must know if there will be
any restriction to his horizontal visibility such as
fog; a ground fog or haze would necessitate a
change of base on return. He will want to know
if there will be turbulence or thunderstorms that
can wreck his ship. All this information must be
provided and must be accurate — or elset

Stormy, as a weather forecaster for the 12th
Air Force, had accepted the responsibility of sup-
plying this information and more. He was not
satisfied in using his knowledge to supply just
this passive information, but made weather an
active arm of the 12th Air Force, a sledge hammer
aid which could beat down the enemy. Take the
raid on an unidentified airdome in the toe of the
Italian boot. It was one of the intensely active
bases from which the Germans were sending large
fighter groups to harass the first invaders of
Italy. It was a well-defended base, one which
obviously required a concentrated surprise attack
to eliminate it. Stormy provided the surprise.'

From his synoptic map Stormy had noted a fast
moving front coming across the Mediterranean.
It was accompanied by rain, intense turbulence
and strong thunderstorm activity; a rough calcu-
lation of its speed showed that it would strike the
Italian mainland in the early evening. Stormy's
eyes lit up as he saw the opportunity for a blow
at the Nazi forces that would rock their heels.
This is the plan that he presented to his com-
manding officer.

The Germans were as aware of the movement
of that particular front as the Allies. Being "su-
per-intellectuals" they were certainly not going
to keep their planes in the air with the obvious
probability of their destruction by the activity
within the front. They would therefore bring
all the planes back to their bases to roost od the
ground until the front had passed, and clear
weather took place behind it.

This was the moment, Stormy argued, that the
Allies should strike. A raid delivered at the pre-
cise moment when the Nazis had grounded their
planes would catch them like "sitting ducks." A
large enough force would be able to eradicate
the entire base.

The key to the entire operation, of course,
was timing. If the movement of the front was
judged incorrectly and the raid were delivered an
hour too early, it would find the Nazi planes
aloft prepared for battle. Delay caused by this
oppositioin might catch the Allied Force in the
front and in dire peril. The Germans were im-
mediately above their home base. They could
disengage and land. Being caught far from their
base in the midst of a storm would mean com-
plete disaster for the Allies. The forecast had
to be accurate; the CO. knew it when he looked
Stormy in the eye.

(Continued on page 130)

THE ODYSSEY OF

By STANTON A. COBLENTZ

HE WAS a swaying rail of a man Mercury-Tribune. "Why not see bat-
in a naval uniform, and his long tling Bert?" some one asked me. "His
lean face seemed to be made up hangout is the Blue Casino, whenever
entirely of the hatchet beak of a nose he has time off. They say he has yarns
and the popping black-beetle eyes that to tell that would turn old Sinbad green
leapt and snapped with a living fire. with envy. And swears by God and the

I first heard of him while making my Bible they're gospel truth."
waterfront rounds as a reporter for the I had often heard of such yarn-spin-

7£ Ftijue—
+ 0.S.

Ther« c«me a weird thunder, then out of
nowhere * ulvo of tremandoui shells . . .

BATTLING BERT

GlANT shells only a battleship
could fire — yet there was no ship

ning prodigies, and was not greatly im-
pressed; but when I actually met Bert,
and felt the mesmeric earnestness in his'
manner, I knew that I had not been mis-
directed. Learning that I was with the
Mercury-Tribune, he seemed to consid-
er me his especial game; and I had no
trouble about luring him into a booth,

125

where, between sips of gin, he opened
up upon me with both barrels.

"Ever hear of that battle at Guadal-
canal where we lost four cruisers — three
American, and one Australian?" he
asked. "Worst licking we ever took
from the Japs! Want to hear the real
story of how we turned the tables on

126

AMAZING STORIES

them damned Mikado-worshippers? I
lived through it all from the first shot,
and, believe me, old pal, I know things
the Navy Department won't let out, for
military reasons — not until long after
the whole blasted scrap is over! "

Now it was not my intention to pry
into the secrets of the Navy Depart-
ment; but Bert, I knew, had been telling
his story to others, and I didn't see why
I should not come in for my share.

"Not that it would do any harm to let
the truth out," he went on, bending con-
fidentially across the table, until his
beaked nose almost touched me. "It's
only that nobody would believe it —
wouldn't blame them, neither I I
wouldn't believe it myself, if I hadn't
lived through the whole crazy mess."

"Well, what's it all about?" I de-
manded.

He fortified himself with another
mouthful of gin before he began, in a
half whisper, as if fearful of being over-
heard:

"I was on the carrier Lancet, in the
thick of the fight from the first. Re-
member how the story got out that we
Yanks was caught napping? Well,
never believe it — that yarn was just a
smoke-screen. What really happened
was that the Japs had a new secret
weapon."

"New secret weapon?"

"Yes, and the damnest thing you ever
laid eyes on. The hell of it was you
couldn't see the cussed thing."

"You mean — it was invisible?"

"Hold your horses there, pal! I'm
getting to that. It was a fine moonlight
night, and good visibility — we was
steaming along at ten knots, and not an
enemy in sight. Them four cruisers
and two or three more, also some de-
stroyers, made a fine sight as they
cruised in a long even line toward some
secret objective — "

"What objective?"

"How in blazes do I know? I'm only
a common seaman, pal, and the Admiral
must of forgot to let me in on the

dope!"

Casting me a contemptuous glance,
Bert paused briefly, brought his glass
once more to his lips, and continued.

"^NYWAY, there we was sailing, and
not a sign of the enemy. Sudden-
ly, plum out of the blue — that is, out of
moonlight — there comes a sound like
thunder, only worse. It gets nearer,
with the most devilish zooming and
booming you ever heard, but you don't
see a damned thing. The zooming and
booming gives way to a droning and
whining; then suddenly, right in our
wake, there comes the most terrific
splash. Waterspout must of been half
a mile high, so help me God! It tossed
our carrier round worse 'n a feather.
Lucky it missed us a few hundred yards,
or I wouldn't be here today."

"What in damnation was it?"

"You're asking me, pal? Say, don't
you think that was just what all the
gobs was asking — them as wasn't hurt
too bad! Look here, will you? Right
behind my neck!"

He smoothed away the hair at the
back of his neck, permitting me to see
a long jagged scar.

"That's where a piece of shrapnel
from the blast hit me. A little harder,
and it'd taken my head right off!"

"And where did you say it came
from?"

"I didn't say. Hell, that's what had
us all guessing. While we was standing
round sort of stunned, what did we hear
again but that zooming, booming noise?
Well, this time we sure flattened our-
selves out fast against the deck! No
sooner was we down on our bellies than
we heard a noise making us think the
whole Pacific Ocean had gone up in one
big flame. The sky was lighted with a

THE ODYSSEY OF BATTLING BERT

127

blaze brighter'n the sun at noon. Know
what was behind it?"

"Well — I can guess."

"Don't need to guess. It was one of
the cruisers — shot must of hit her boiler
room — she went up in the cussedest
sheet of fire you ever saw. Not enough
of her left to send home to the Missus
for a souvenir."

"Lord in heaven!"

"That wasn't the worst of it, neither.
That devilish noise like thunder kept
on, getting louder and louder, with an-
other droning and whining, and there
came another waterspout, and we was
almost hit again. It wasn't another five
minutes before the second cruiser went
up in fire."

"But, my God, man, didn't you try to
fight back?"

"Sure we did!" There was a wry
smile on Bert's long face, and his pop-
ping black-beetle eyes flashed with a
light that was almost challenging. "Sure
we did ! Had a good chance, too ! Same
chance as a blind man aiming a gun in
the dark. We fired some salvos, but
what was there to fire at? Knew
damned well we was wasting our shots,
because the only clue where the ene-
my's shells came from was the direc-
tion of the sound."

"Yes, but didn't you send out any
scouting planes?"

"You bet we did! Sent out a squad-
ron of six — and that was when we began
to get real scared. One ship, just one
lone ship, came back! Reported there
wasn't a goddamn sign of anything on
the waves within firing range. Just the
same, shots came up like from nowhere,
right out of them moonlit waves, and
plucked five of the planes down from
the sky. Sixth got away by a miracle —
I saw the bullet-holes in its wings and
fuselage."

"Lord help us, that does make it look
bad!"

"jQON'T you tell me! Take it from
some one who knows, pal, there
was a lot of brave boys on that carrier,
but when they saw the third cruiser go
down, and then the fourth, and water-
spouts jumping up all round us no mat-
ter how we tried to get away, and we
thought our turn was coming next — well,
then you can't blame 'em too much if
some of them got down on their knees
and began to pray, and some ran round
and round in a fool panic, and some
looked paler'n spooks by the light from
them burning cruisers. It wasn't so
much that we was scared our own turn
was coming. Hell, what did that mat-
ter? But if them imps of Nips had a
new secret weapon that could fire on us
and we couldn't fire back, they'd sink
our whole navy, and there wouldn't be
one infernal thing we could do to stop
'em!"

"Whew! " I conceded. "That's what
I do call serious!"

"Serious?" Bert paused, struck a
match to a cigarette with an almost
defiant force, and went on between
puffs. "Serious ain't the word. It was
desperate. Looked like we was done
for — like we'd lost the war, that's the
way it looked. If it hadn't been for a
lucky accident, and the quick wits of
Ensign Holloway — "

"Who in tarnation is Ensign Hollo-
way?"

"A man the whole American people
— yes, sirree, the whole world ought to
get down and honor on their knees. If
it hadn't been for him, them Japs would
of been knocking at our front door long
ago. I saw him with my own eyes —
and guess I won't never forget what he
did!"

I knew that Bert was approaching the
climax of his story, so I said nothing
while he drained away the last of the
gin, then turned back to me with an
aggressive thrust of his hatchet nose.

AMAZING STORIES

"There comes another of them hellish
noises, and this time we sort of knows
in our bones we ain't going to get off so
easy. Every man throws himself down
flat as a pancake, but we hears a racket
like the whole damned tub was being
ripped to smithereens, andplop! Some-
thing hits our flight deck like a hun-
dred-ton bomb falling amidships. No
need to tell us we'd been struck by a
large shell, and when she didn't go off
we knew she must be either a dud or
one of them delayed-action babies.
Wow! Any second we might be blown
further'n hail Columbia!

"Well, there sure was a rush to look
for that shell and hoist her overboard.
The hell of it was we couldn't see a
damned thing. But some of the boys
kept falling over something to star-
board, just where some of them five lost
planes had been. It was right then that
Ensign Holloway stepped forward, and
took measurements."

"You mean to say he took measure-
ments of something he couldn't see?"

"Sure, old pal, that's just what I
mean to say. Maybe he was a inch or
two off, but he could feel all along the
thing, and get a mighty good idea of its
size. I forget how many feet long it
was, and it pretty near busted its way
through the thick steel deck. A 2,000-
pounder. Holloway said!"

"Holy Christopher! Bet you didn't
waste any time about hauling it over-
board!"

"That's all you know about it, pal!
There's where the Ensign came in with
his smart idea. 'If it blows us clean out
of the water,' he says to the old man —
Admiral Dartmouth, that is — 'why,
then, it's only one more ship lost. But
if you'll let me, sir, I'll try and find the
secret of this here infernal machine.' "

" 'Go to it— and my blessings!' says
the Admiral."

" 'My belief,' Holloway goes on —

and I listens in, standing right behind
him, and him too excited to notice — 'my
belief is that that there shell is covered
with invisible paint. If we can scrape it
off and find its secret — ' "

"TUST then there comes another of
J them cussed boomings and zoom-
ings, and we all fall flat to the deck
again, so I didn't hear the rest. But
when we got back on our feet, I was one
of the boys Holloway picked to help
with the nastiest job any man ever
tackled. We all had knives and scrapers,
and he told us to work like hell, and rub
the surface off that invisible shell, which
we could tell by the feel of it. It was
still hot as a stove, and pretty near
burned the skin off my hand, and be-
lieve me! I grumbled to myself, be-
cause if the Admiral liked being blown
to perdition, that didn't mean I wanted
to kick off just yet. More than once I
heard a sputtering, and thought sure
that delayed action fuse was working."

Bert paused long enough to light an-
other cigarette; while I put a question
that had been troubling me.

"Even if you did rub the surface off
that invisible shell, how could you see
what you scraped off?"

"Funny thing about it," Bert went
on, between puffs, "was that the stuff
wasn't quite invisible against our hands
or in cartons and wooden boxes. It had
a pale glow, sort of like radium; but
when we put it on metal it became
plumb invisible again, and hid every-
thing behind it. We couldn't figure out
just what its effect on the metal was, but
we didn't have to know, because Ensign
Holloway's mind worked quicker's a
steel spring."

"So what did he do?"

"Plenty, pal! Plenty! When we'd
scraped enough of that stuff off the
bomb, he tried spreading it over a two-
motored Dashaway bomber. Being all

THE ODYSSEY OF BATTLING BERT

129

aluminum, the plane was simply blacked
out— pretty soon you wouldn't of known
she was there at all. Then a couple of
our pilots put off with a full bomb-load.
Tell you the truth, I didn't think we'd
ever see the poor guys again. But I had
it all wrong. They did a wonderful job,
blast me for a water-rat if they didn't!"

"But how could you know what they
did, if you couldn't see them?"

"Oh, I could see enough, take it from
me, pal ! Not at first, maybe — we could
just hear them taking to the air, putting
off in the direction them zooming and
booming noises was coming from. But
we knew the enemy couldn't see them;
and the chance of hitting them, just
from listening to their motors, was about
like the chance of batting a home run
with a broomstick in the Big Leagues.
We wasn't worried none about that,
pal."

"Still, if the enemy couldn't see them,
how could they see the enemy?"

"Christ's sake! what a dumb ques-
tion! Wasn't then crazy black-livered
Japs firing shots all the time? All we
had to do was get right over the spot the
shots was being fired from, which was
what the other planes tried to do, but
they was shot down because they could
be seen. But our invisible plane, guided
by little spouts of smoke that couldn't
be seen more'n a few stones' throws
away, could get right over the Jap bat-
tleship — "

"Battleship? How do you know she
was a battleship?"

"We know it alright, from what hap-
pened when we let loose with our bombs.
But say, pal ! " Bert broke off abruptly,
"what the hell's the matter with this
here pest house? Ain't that guy never
going to bring no more gin?"

T RANG for the waiter; and not until
L after the story teller had taken an-
other good swallow did he relax suffi-

ciently to continue.

"Believe me, pal, we knew she was a
battleship the minute she went up in
flames. She wasn't invisible any more
now, when them blazes broke all the
way through her. No, by God ! she was
just about the A Number 1 fireworks
exhibit we ever laid eyes on. We saw
her whole goddamn hull sticking out
against the sky in a sort of wavy golden
red— sure was a giant too, looked about
a mile long! Cross my heart to die if
she wasn't the biggest battle-wagon
afloat — and then some! Course, we
couldn't take no measurements — didn't
have time — couldn't of been a minute
before the explosions hit the powder
magazine, because she just spouted up
in a damned eruption of red and carrot-
yellow, higher'n a mountain; and the
noise, which reached us about a minute
later, was enough to knock you down.
When we looked again, all that was
left was a big rose-colored cloud against
the sky."

Bert was again concentrating on the
gin, and I found it hard to ask all the
questions that crowded to my mind.
"Those fellows in that Dashaway bomb-
er deserved a decoration!" I remarked.
"Did they get safely back?"

My acquaintance shook his head sad-
ly. "Yep, they got back, all right. Not
exactly all right, neither, because a
lucky shot from that battleship ripped
away half of one of their wings, and
they had to land in the water. They
saved themselves on rubber rafts, but
the plane went to the bottom — which
was a hell of a mean deal, because it
took with it the secret of that invisible
paint."

"How so?" I argued. "Wasn't there
still that shell left on your deck?"

"No, there wasn't. Admiral Dart-
mouth wasn't taking no chances. He
had it put on a raft and let it drift away;
afraid to drop it in the water, thinking

130

AMAZING STORIES

maybe the shock would explode it. Was
damned right, tool Because it turned
out not to be a dud at all, but a delayed
action baby, sure enough I You ought
to see it when it went off — exploded by
a shell from our guns. Swear to God, I
thought the whole damned sea was go-
ing up in fire!"

Having drained all the gin from his
glass, Bert was staggering up from his
seat.

"One question more," I flung out, try-
ing my best to detain him. "We had
lost the secret, you say, but the Japs
still had it. Why haven't they used it
again?"

"That's just what's got me guessing
too, old pal," he muttered. "S'pose they
was plumb discouraged, losing their big-
gest battleship that way. Must of
thought we had the answer to that in-
visible paint — and was scared to try
again. Besides, most likely it used up

JUST PLAIN WIZARDRY

(Continued from page 123)

"Hope my watch is right," said Stormy. He
wasn't smiling.

Stormy went to work. Reports of past move-
ments of the front were checked and rechecked.
Winds aloft, the map of wind velocity and direc-
tion at the various levels, was consulted and
showed a slight shift in the direction of move-
ment. The shift that would occur when it struck
the mainland was also plotted. It was close,
desperately tedious work, but Stormy was equal
to it He put the forecast on the C.O.'s desk.

Events moved quickly now. A force of one
hundred bombers was prepared. The planes were
gassed up, bombs loaded, pilots briefed, and at
the prescribed time the first Liberator began its
long run, for the take-off. One after another they
took to the air and a perfect formation headed
for the target. Two planes developed engine trou-
ble and were forced to return; the rest closed in
and the formation was soon out of sight.

Each pilot knew his job to the letter. They
had been allotted a specific amount of time for
take-off and the flight to their destination. Their
bombs were to be dropped quickly and the re-
turn was to be made without the slightest delay.
The plan was perfect. The job of the pilot was
limply to put it into effect.

such a hoard of valuable materials they
couldn't afford to take another risk."

Bert was visibly reeling as he started
out of the booth and across the blazing
lobby toward the bar. "Yes, old pal,"
he proclaimed, "you can just take your
hat off to Ensign Holloway! Nobody
won't ever know it, but he's the man
what beat them damned Japs, and
turned our worst licking into our biggest
victory!"

"Why won't any one ever know it?"

But Bert was already beyond hearing.
Reaching the bar, surrounded by a knot
of seamen, he sagged down against the
brass railing, and exclaimed, "Gin !
Quick! Make it gin all round!" And
although he had trouble about remain-
ing on his feet, his eyes bore the ex-
alted and far-away light of one who has
looked upon miracles not given to every
man to see.

THE END

Back at the base Stormy sat and waited. This
was the most arduous part of his task. He could
only plan but not take part in the accomplishment
of the job he prepared. He had to remain behind
knowing that lives hung on the accuracy of his
prediction. He had to "sweat it out."

Time crawled. They should be approaching
their target now. The first bomber should be lay-
ing its eggs on the parked Nazi planes. Why
does time move so slowly ? These were the
thoughts that raced through Stormy 's mind as
he checked his watch for the hundredth time.

An hour passed. They should be heading home
now. If they weren't, if they had been delayed,
latest reports showed that they would be con-
fronted with the full force of the storm. Why
couldn't he have been with them?

Suddenly a voice called out, "Here they come!"
Stormy dashed out. He watched them land as
quickly as they had taken off. Every one of the
bombers were there. Stormy breathed a sigh of
relief.

The pilots left their ships and mobbed the
weather station.

"What a nifty forecast!" they shouted. "It
was like taking candy from a baby. Their ships
were parked waiting for us. The Boche even had
them tied down so that the wind wouldn't blow
them around. They won't have to worry about
the wind any more — or the planes either, for that
matter!"

"Did you look back as we headed toward home?

JUST PLAIN WIZARDRY

131

The thunderstorm was just moving in over their
field. It was perfect timing, fellows. They won't
forget this day soon."

Captain Erickson had been in that raid. It was
his first meeting with Stormy and a feeling of
comradeship had grown quickly between them.
They ribbed each other mercilessly, of course, but
underneath they had only the highest respect for
one another. The Swede and the Irishman were
always betting on something, anything from the
winner of the pennant to the wind direction over
the Mediterranean. Most of the time, of course,
their conversations were about the weather.

Their latest wager concerned a certain mission
for which Erickson had volunteered. Stormy had
forecasted three days in advance that, despite the
fact that clear bombing weather would prevail
over the rest of Italy, one cloud a mile wide and
at least 2000 feet thick would cover Erickson's
target at an altitude of 1500 feet making it im-
possible to bomb. The Captain, who was no
meteorological slouch himself, gave Stormy the

"horse laugh," arguing that it was impossible for
any man to forecast that accurately. He said
that the forecast was wrong, and that he would
make the flight and bomb the target. Each man
had put half a month's pay to back up his side,
and now Captain Erickson was gleefully gloating

over his apparent victory, but

Gerhardt's voice interrupted Captain Erickson's
reverie.

"We're approaching our target, Skipper. I
would suggest— Wait ! Skipper, do you see what I
see?" The Captain banked his ship and looked
down.

"Well, I'll be ! Where did that cloud come

from?" There at about 2,000 feet, neatly covering
the target area, was a stra to- cumulus cloud a mile
wide. Captain Erickson looked up at the sky as
if he were asked for an explantaion from the Lord-
He smiled.

"Gerhardt, we're heading for our alternate tar-
get .. . and remind me not to bet against Stormy
again. That guy must have a pipeline to God!"

LIFE?
OR VOLTAGE?

NOT long ago in the laboratory of the Cleve-
land Clinic an experiment was performed
which created a tremendous furor in the
scientific world. Dr. George V. Crile was the ex-
perimenter. He is a world famous surgeon and
past President of the American College of Sur-
geons. His work in recent days has been concerned
with probing deeper than ever before into the
mystery of the living organism to try and detect
that vital force which men call "life."

Dr. Crile has produced in his Cleveland labora-
tory near-Jiving cells possessing to an amazing de-
gree the characteristics of life-like organisms. These
cells were "created" by this ingenious scientist
from the tissues of freshly-killed animals. The
brain cells were removed and reduced to ashes
electrically. From these ashes Dr. Crile obtained
certain salts and other elements. By mixing these
elements with protein and various chemical com-
pounds electrically, Dr. Crile obtained cells whose
physical makeup and habits and activities were
very similar to living cells. These synthetic cells
consume oxygen and give off carbon dioxide. They
can be observed in rapid motion; they increase in
size upon feeding and even carry on the reproduc-
tive functions common to the living-cell animals.

To Dr. Crile, this has only served to reinforce
a belief which he has maintained for a long time.
Life is closely allied to electricity, he points out,
"if, indeed, it is not electricity as man knows it I"
As further proof of this argument, Dr. Crile points
to the experiment which follows here.

Some very fine measurements of the one-celled
animal, the Amoeba, showed that it had an elec-

trical charge of about 1/60 of a volt. A minute
piece of apparatus was devised which could be
attached to the Amoeba. A flow of current was
initiated, and it was found that when enough
positive current was introduced to cancel thtf
negative charge of the Amoeba death and disin-
tegration was the inevitable result. Neither an
excess nor a deficiency of electricity produce any
harmful effect on the animal, but when its charge
was neutralized death was the result.

Dr. Crile holds "In a large series of additional
experiments we have found that in animals and in
plants as well as in fruits there exists a potential
which disappears at death. This potential is de-
pendent on a semi-permeable film, on certain elec-
trolytic concentrations, on water, on temperatures,
on oxidation, all of which together create the or-
ganizing potential. It is the charge on the films of
the cells which endows the organism with its selec-
tive adaptive property. Oxidation occurs only in
the presence of an electric charge, and the charge
is created by oxidation. Life is a phase of the or-
ganization created by the electric strain or poten-
tial, and death is an inert stage in which potential
is lost and disintegration is inaugurated."

Immediately questions jump to our minds. Can
we condition life and growth by gaining control of
these electrical charges? Can the vital electricity
that is stealing away from living things be insulated
and retained, as electricity is held in wires? What
are the chances, if any, of man gaining the power
to supply new electric charges to dying cells or
dying bodies to keep them alive? All these ques-
tions are as yet unanswered.— B. R. Johnson.

The Whips
of Doo

By Helmar Lewis

OVERTON wanted to witness the rites oS

the Penltentes; and he did! Bat then he found that

a pet theory of his was more than a theory!

"TTOU'RE taking a chance with
V your life!" the grizzled U.S.
-*• Deputy Marshal had warned

Overton.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Over-
ton had replied.

The Marshal continued. "There's
no telling what those Penitentes'll be
up to next. When we found the body
of the last guy they caught snooping
around their ceremonials, we had a
tough job of identifying him. There
wasn't an inch of him that hadn't been
cut to shreds by the whips 1"

But such warnings meant nothing to
Overton. He had been similarly ad-

vised when he had decided to continue
his anthropological researches among
the Pigmies in Nyassaland, in Africa.
And when he had prepared to go into
the green hells of the Papuan jungles
to study certain of the ceremonial rites
of the frizzle-topped head-hunters, he
had also been warned.

"If the snakes or bugs or malaria
don't get you," he had been told, "then
those Papuan devils surely will 1 "

Yet, he had come out of those expe-
ditions safely and with a vast amount
of original data. He still suffered an
occasional twinge of malaria. That
was to be expected from his work. But,

133

134

AMAZING STORIES

as for the supposed savages who were
going to boil him in oil or lop off his
head or pepper him with poisoned blow-
gun darts — why, that had all been pop-
pycock. A sensible head on his shoul-
ders, sufficient caution to stay out of
a precarious situation plus the com-
forting presence of a .44 automatic
swinging at his hip and he was pre-
pared for any emergency.

Overton had first heard of the Peni-
tentes from a newspaper clipping. It
had described, only in slight detail, the
strange, flagellant customs of a sect of
religious fanatics in the hinterlands of
New Mexico. He had witnessed many
such rites and had recorded them in his
reports. To his students at Midwestern
University, he had lectured:

"Flagellation is a peculiar phenom-
enon that is practiced by a great many
people all over the world. I am not so
sure, from my researches, that this prac-
tice of self-whipping is purely physical.
And the theory I am going to expound
now, I warn you, has not been backed
up by laboratory experiments. But, it
is my belief that there is a spiritual
transformation that results from self-
whipping — from any whipping, for that
matter — that is exalting."

One of the students queried the use
of the word "exalting."

"I mean just that," Overton had ex-
plained, "I believe that something hap-
pens to the psyche, to the soul, to the
inner being — call it what you will — that
transforms the one who is suffering the
pangs of pain from the plane of his
actual physical existence to a more
rarified spiritual plane. I believe, for
example, that there is what I call the
brotherhood of pain."

That brought another query from a
student.

"The whole world is kin," Overton
continued. "There is a part — infinitesi-
mal as it may be — of the first human

being in every human being now living
in the world. Every man and woman,
therefore, is related physically to every
other man and woman. In the same
way, there is a spiritual relationship be-
tween every occupant of the world.
Ethereal waves — electric, magnetic or
some heretofore unknown power — are
emitted by each living person which are
picked up, like an ethereal radio set, by
some other persons or persons. Some
of these waves make for thought trans-
ference. Others for the balance of ex-
tra-sensory perceptions. While still
others make it possible for those who
have passed away into the spirit world
to commune with those of us who still
remain on earth.

"Now, because of insufficient labo-
ratory experimentation, we rationalize
these unaccountable phenomena by call-
ing them super-natural. But who is to
say that what we know is natural and
what we do not know is super-natural?
I believe that, in time, it will be pos-
sible to transmit, not only the thoughts
of a human being, but the human be-
ing, himself, through a system of extra-
sensory waves and planes that are, as
yet, unknown to us. It is for that rea-
son that I feel that in the exaltation of
pain there is an extra-sensory phenom-
enon that is in some strange way, a
means of both spiritual and physical
transformation. Now I can only voice
this theory. Perhaps later when I re-
turn from my researches among the
Penitentes I may have something new
to add, something that may make out
of my theory a fact."

The fact that such vestigial remains
of predatory savagery were still extant
in civilized United States had intrigued
Overton. So he had arranged to spend
his usual two month vacation in the
study of the Penitentes.

"Perhaps it's because of the danger
that's involved," he confessed to a col-

THE WHIPS OF DOOM

135

league. "I'm not accustomed to being
holed up teaching classes at a Univer-
sity. I'm a field man, not a theorist.
I've got to be out in the open wilds dig-
ging up the facts and artifacts for you
theorist johnnies to catalog and coor-
dinate."

CO OVERTON packed his belongings
in his car and started off for New
Mexico, where the Penitentes were said
to abound. His first glimpse of them
he obtained as he was driving out of Los
Vegas on the old Santa Fe Trail. Out-
lined against a mass of fleecy clouds,
on Starvation Peak, he saw an immense
cross. It was as he was staring at it
that he made the acquaintance of Big
Mike Rafferty, one of the U.S. Deputy
Marshals in the district. For as he
stared up at the huge cross, Overton
heard a car approach and stop. Raf-
ferty got out and went up to where
Overton was standing.

"Going up there?" he asked. He
flashed his Marshal's badge.

Overton nodded his head. "Yes," he
said, "I'm going to do some anthropo-
logical research among the Penitentes."

The grizzled Marshal chewed a straw
reflectively. "Want some good advice?"
he asked, and without waiting for a re-
sponse, continued, "Don't!"

"Why not?"

"Tain't healthy for white folks ! "

"I just want to study their customs,"
Overton explained. "Surely there's
nothing wrong with that."

"Okay!" the Marshal replied, "but
remember that I warned you. From
now on, you're on your own. Don't
forget to to keep your nose clean when
you get up there among the Penitente
Brothers. Don't ask too many ques-
tions. And, now that the Lenten sea-
son's on, stay away from their cere-
monies." With these words, he turned
and went back to his car.

Overton watched his car roar off.
Then he turned and looked up to the
immense cross on the peak. "Poppy-
cock!" was all he said aloud, as he
stepped on the starter and continued
forward up the steep grade of the road.

QVERTON rented a cabin near a
small settlement of Mexicans and
Indian half-breeds in Rio Arriba
county. About half a mile down the
dusty road, in a forsaken arroyo, he had
discovered the presence of a morada,
a house of worship of the Penitente
Brothers in the district. It was of the
old-fashioned type, built of adobe with
no windows. From his preliminary re-
search, Overton knew that it was the
kind from which the Penitentes usually
began their rites.

Occasionally, as he lay in his bunk at
night, he would hear the strange, high,
piping of a reed flute piercing the des-
ert night air. This he knew to be the
call to worship. But he refrained, at
first, from investigating. His first job,
he knew, was to become acquainted with
his neighbors.

He found this to be quite difficult.
They seemed to resent his presence.
And when he would approach them, to
converse, they would sidle off with ma-
lignant grimaces. But, gradually, a few
of the men began to talk with him.
Once he found one of them suffering
with a broken leg and took care of him,
applied a splint and soon had him well
on the way to recovery; so that in about
a month's time Overton was able to walk
about among the adobe huts without
attracting too much attention.

Then, slowly, he began to ask ques-
tions. These, at first, were skillfully
parried. But in time, he gathered a
considerable amount of information
about the Penitente Brotherhood. Then,
one day, Pablo Domingo, the man
whose broken leg he had treated, came

136

AMAZING STORIES

to him at his cabin.

"Weel be beeg doin's tonight!" he
said to Overton.

"The Penitentes?"

Pablo nodded his head. "The beeg
night!" he replied. "All durin' the Lent
season, the Hermanos Penitentes, they
have be pray and work up for the beeg
doin's tonight."

"Today's Good Friday!"

"That is why," Pablo explained.
"Tonight, they weel make the proces-
sion to the cross and the Good Friday
crucifixion!"

Overton looked down at the Mexican.
"Could you arrange to have me see what
goes on, Pablo?"

"Es very, very dangerous!"

"I'd like to see it!"

Pablo shrugged his shoulders. "The
Hermanos, they weel be very angry eef
they find you!"

"I'll take care of myself," Overton
replied. "I've just got to see the cere-
monies. When will they start?"

Pablo went to the opening in the
adobe wall and peered out suspiciously.
Then he returned to Overton. "When
you hear the playing of the flute," he
said, "come outside. I weel be there
waiting for you. Then I take you where
they make the ceremony." He left
Overton delighted with the thought
that, finally, he was going to witness
the flagellation rites and the crucifixion
ceremonies that few white men had ever
seen.

'y.HAT night, as he lay on his bunk,
he listened attentively for the sound
of the flute. All he could hear, at first,
was the incessant chirrup of the myriad
cicadas and other night insects with an
occasional howl of a desert wolf.

Then, suddenly, he heard it. This
time there seemed to be a difference m
the intensity of the flute's shriek. He
thought he detected almost a demonic

note wailing and keening in an agoniz-
ingly weird pitch. Leaping up from his
bunk, Overton walked slowly outside
into the immense darkness that seemed
to surround him like a pall of gloom.
Overhead he saw the great, star-stud-
ded spread of heavens. But there was
no moon and the countryside was
bathed in an enveloping mantle of
pitch-black darkness.

Overton waited for a long while.
Finally, he heard footsteps approaching
in the sand. Then he heard a voice call
out.

"Senor Overton!" he heard.
"Yes, Pablo!"

"Follow me," Pablo whispered.

Overton was barely able to distin-
guish Pablo's form in the darkness.
But he followed him for some distance.
And, as he continued, the piping wail
of the reed flute became louder and
louder until, soon, it seemed to be com-
ing from only a very short distance
away.

"Stop here!" Overton heard Pablo
whisper.

Overton stopped short. Pablo came
back to where he was standing. "Soon,"
Pablo said, "the procession eet weel
pass here. Then you weel see all!"

Overton seated himself behind a
clump of cactus with Pablo at his side.
He was tempted to question his guide
about the ceremonies, but he decided to
bide his time. First, he must see the
rites for himself. Later on, he could
supplement the gaps with Pablo's infor-
mation.

Pablo indicated with his right hand.
"That way," he said, "eez where the
cross weel be. Soon, the procession, eet
weel pass by here." He listened for a
moment. "Eet comes now!" he said.
"Please to be quiet! We must not be
deescover!"

Overton listened. As if from an ex-
treme distance he heard the sound of

THE WHIPS OF DOOM

137

a chant growing louder and louder.
Then, through the darkness, he saw the
pin-points of candle-flames as though
they were being held in a long proces-
sion. Gradually the lights grew larger,
the chant louder, and the thin, piping
wail of the reed flute over-rode all the
sounds.

From over a rise in the ground, Over-
ton saw a Mexican appear with a flute
in his hands and mouth. Behind him
Overton saw the first flush of dawn
break into the dark sky. Then, as
though it were emerging from the rise in
ground, came a huge wooden cross bom
on the shoulders of a native wearing
only a pair of white cotton trousers.
Overton saw him lurch and stumble un-
der the enormous weight he carried. Be-
hind this large cross, a number of other
smaller crosses appeared, each being
dragged and carried by a Penitente.
And behind this procession of crosses
and their bearers came a procession of
Penitentes, their gleaming torsos bared
to the skin and shining in the flickering
light from a hundred candles being car-
ried high by others in the procession.
These Penitentes carried whips made of
Spanish bayonet fibers tipped with
cholla cactus spines tied together on a
wooden handle. And, as they wailed in
their chant, each flagellant Penitente
swung the wicked whip, first across his
left shoulder and then across his right
shoulder as the blood streamed down
their front and back along troughed
gashes in their flesh.

CLOWLY the procession continued to
file past the awed Overton as he
crouched behind the cactus. Finally,
when the last of the procession had
passed him, Overton felt the pluck of
Pablo's fingers at his sleeve.

"Come, Senor Overton," Pablo whis-
pered, "eet eez done!"

"How about the crucifixion cere-

mony? I want to witness that."

Pablo grew frightened. "No, senor!"
he insisted. His voice tremored with
fright. "Not that! Eef they catch us,
we weel be keeled!"

But Overton was impatient. "Don't
worryl" he said, "they won't catch us!"

But, before he was able to stop him,
Pablo had run off, the faint clop-clop of
his sandals in the sand soon dying out
in the night. Overton was tempted to
follow Pablo. But when he heard the
dying fall of the procession chant, he
made up his mind to continue with his
investigation. After all, he reasoned, the
most important part of the ceremonies
would be conducted at the cross.

His mind made up, Overton began to
follow in the footsteps of the Penitente
procession making certain that he was
far enough behind to avoid detection.
He stopped short when he saw the pro-
cession wind up at the immense cross he
had seen when he had first been ac-
costed by the U.S. Marshal. Around
the large cross, he saw fourteen smaller
ones about which the procession had
formed a large circle. And, as many of
the Penitentes kneeled in prayer, the
whipping fanatics belabored themselves
with their cactus knouts the while they
rent the air with their groans and cries
of pain.

Standing off to one side, Overton saw
a small figure of a man — the one who
had borne the enormous cross in the
procession. He had been chosen in the
drawing of lots to be the one who was
to be crucified. Overton saw a number
of the others approach the man with
leather thongs, as though they were pre-
paring to lash him to the cross he had
carried. Just as they were about to do
so, Overton felt someone leap upon his
back.

"A spy!" he heard someone behind
him cry out.
Soon, others of the Penitentes had

138

AMAZINS STORIES

leaped upon him. And, before he was
aware of what was happening, he felt
a heavy blow land on his head and a
blinding flash seared across his eyes.
Then darkness brought with it uncon-
sciousness.

I_TE CAME out of his faint to feel the
lash of the whip cutting across his
bruised flesh. Time and again, the cac-
tus-tipped thongs of Spanish bayonet
came down on his back, across his shoul-
ders and on his arms. And as the pain
acid-etched itself across his brain, he
could think only of one thing: they are
going to crucify met they are going to
crucify me I

But, soon, although the biting lashes
continued, it appeared to him that the
pangs of pain were decreasing. He
heard the wail of the chanters, the lit-
any of the dead singing in his ears.

Then a strange thing happened to
him.

In some unaccountable way, although
his body was still writhing in agony, his
mind, somehow, had separated itself
from its corporeal shell and was soaring
up and away into the limitless stretches
of infinity, up and away . . . away . .

"Is this death?" he thought. "Have
I died and is my soul winging its way
to some unknown bourne?"

And then an odd thought struck him.
He was performing an experiment in
pain, such as he had told his students
of in school. Through the medium of
pain, he had become exalted. He had
emerged into another plane of exist-
ence. What plane? What miracle was
going to be wrought because he had
joined the brotherhood of pain?

"C CHWEINHTJNDT ! " was the first

word he heard again.
He opened his eyes wearily and saw,
towering above him, the burly uni-
formed hulk of a Gestapo man, his bull-

whip raised high over his head.

"So!" the Gestapo man roared, "will
you talk now, you American pig?"

Overton could only gasp in pain. But
he refused to cry out. And his obsti-
nacy enraged the Gestapo man so much
that he continued to rain blows with his
whip onto the bared back of the man
beneath him in the dirt.

"Talk!" he screamed out, "talk, or I
will cut you to ribbons!"

But Overton continued silent. To
take his mind away from the pain, he
tried to think through his present pre-
dicament. Why was he being beaten
now in Germany? How had he gotten to
Germany? His last conscious thought
had come in New Mexico, in the United
States. Yet, here he was being whipped
in Germany by a brutalized Gestapo
man.

It all had something to do with the
brotherhood of pain, he was certain of
that. Perhaps some other poor victim
bad been whipped at exactly the same
moment that he was being whipped by
the Penitentes. And in some peculiar
manner, because both were on the verge
of death, perhaps, their astral bodies
hovering on the brink of the long jour-
ney to nowhere, their bodies had been
transposed — their bodies and their
psyches! Was this the proof of the
theory he had given to his students?

But he was suffering too much to
continue with his thoughts. He was
rudely wrenched back to the pain of his
whipping when he felt himself being
drenched with cold water.

"Take him back to his cell!" he
heard the Gestapo man say. And then
the whipping ceased and he felt himself
being dragged along the ground.

When Overton regained conscious-
ness, he discovered, to his consternation,
that he was in a dank, stone-lined cell
the walls of which continually dripped
green slime. When he tried to move

THE WHIPS OF DOOM

139

severe spasms of pain shot through his
body. It was then he remembered the
whipping he had received. But some-
thing bothered him. Why had he
heard the word "schweinhundt?" What
did that have to do with the Peni-
tentes in New Mexico?

He lay on his back for a while, luxu-
riating in the softness of some damp
straw that was under his aching back.
Then, as though it were coming from
vast distances, he heard an insistent
rat-tat-tat coming from behind the
walls of his cell. At first, he chose to
make nothing of it attributing the
sound to rats. But, gradually, he be-
gan to hear the rapping take on a
definite pattern. And the fact sud-
denly dawned on him that it was being
sent in a sort of a code.

He dragged himself closer to the
wall to hear the message better. Then,
from out of the mists of the past, there
came back to him the elements of the
Morse Code that he had learned when
he was a lad in the Boy Scouts, in
Titusville.

^FTER a long period, he was able to
figure out the meaning of the con-
tinuous message. "Are you there?" was
being tapped out, "are you there?"

Overton looked around the cell and
found a tin cup. Raising it to the
stone, he began to tap out his reply to
the message, at first in faltering code.
"Yes!" he tapped out with the cup,
"yesl yes!"

Soon, the message changed. And
during the course of the next week, he
was able to conduct an entire conver-
sation in the tapped-out Morse code.

He discovered, to his amazement,
that he was in a Nazi concentration
camp at Oranienburg, in the suburbs
of Berlin.

"You're the American who was
brought in last week," he decoded from

the taps that came through the wall.

"Who are you?" Overton asked.

"Frank Folmer," came back to him
in code. "I'm a British Intelligence
man. Dropped near Berlin by para-
chute. I've got some important Wekr-
macht plans given to me by the Berlin
underground. And I'd like to get them
into the hands of my superiors," he
continued, "if I could only find a way
of getting out of here." There was a
pause. Then came the tapped mes-
sage, "I wouldn't be telling you all this
if I didn't know that you were Captain
Michael Tabor, of the American In-
telligence." There was another pause.
Then came, "The guard. See you this
afternoon in exercise yard."

"So that's who I'm supposed to be,"
Overton thought, "Captain Michael
Tabor, an American." The pain of the
welts of the whipping he had received
came back to him. "The brotherhood
of pain," he thought. "Tabor has al-
ready died. I am still alive but on the
brink of death. We were both being
whipped to death at the same moment.
And, somehow, I have taken over his
body, for some reason or other. That's
the answer to this strange transforma-
tion."

That afternoon, Overton was taken
from his cell and put into a large dormi-
tory together with about fifty other in-
ternes. Most of them were Germans.
But, in a far corner, he caught sight of
a tall, blonde, husky young man, There
was something about the determination
of his lantern-jaw that labeled him as
being an Englishman. Overton was cer-
tain that he was the one who had tapped
out the code messages to him through
the stone walls.

He did not have to wait long to learn
the truth. For, that afternoon, when
the internees were driven out of their
barracks into the exercise yard, Over-
ton found himself side by side with

140

AMAZING STORIES

the Englishman.

"You're Tabor," the Englishman
said.

Overton nodded his head. "And
you're Folmer."

They shook hands silently. And
when they saw a Gestapo man ap-
proaching, they separated with the
whispered agreement that they
would try to meet every day to talk
things over.

"I'd heard about you," Folmer said
some time later, "through the grape-
vine. That's why I contacted you via
the Morse Code and told you about
myself. If the Gestapo knew who I
was, they'd pull me out of here in a

jiffy."

"I can't see how you expect to escape
from here," Overton said. "They've
got more guards than internees, it
seems."

"It isn't the guards I'm afraid of,"
Folmer replied and he inclined his
head in the direction of the high
barbed-wire fence that surrounded the
exercise yard. "It's that I"

"Barbed wire?"

"More than that I It's charged with
an electrical current. One poor fellow,
half-crafced with pain, tried to go over
it last week. Burned him to a crisp,
quite. And incidentally blew out all
the fuses in the camp. This is a new
project," he explained further. "They
haven't been able to devise a means
yet of preventing a short-circuiting of
the entire electrical system when some-
one gets caught on the fence."

QVERTON became lost in thought.

Even when his friend warned him
of the approach of a Gestapo guard, he
did not seem to be aware of his sur-
roundings. Only when Folmer jabbed
him in the side did he come out of
his brown study.
"What were you thinking of, Over-

ton?" Folmer asked him that evening
as they were preparing to go to bed.

Overton smiled. "Oh, nothing
much," he replied, "just something that
happened to strike me at the time."

It was when Folmer told him, a few
days later, that, unless he was able to
escape soon, the information he pos-
sessed regarding the German Wehr-
macht, would lose its value to the
British.

"It's about troop concentrations in
Norway," he said, "and unless I can get
the facts to my superiors, I'm afraid
it'll be too late."

"Suppose you do get out of here,"
Overton asked, "how do you know
you'll be able to get through to
London?"

Folmer winked. "I've got friends
on the outside," he said, "but they're
not powerful enough to get in touch
with me here so that I can relay the in-
formation to them or to get me out.
They're waiting around, though, on the
outside if I can manage to break out.
But I'm afraid they'll have to wait a
long time from the looks of things
here."

"I don't know about that," Overton
said thoughtfully.
"Got something up your sleeve?"
"Perhaps."
"What?"

. . "It'll hold until tomorrow after-
noon," Overton replied. "Meanwhile,"
he added, "if I were you I'd get to
sleep as early as possible. You might
need the extra strength and energy."

He turned away from Folmer and
went directly to bed.

The next afternoon, as the two
friends were lolling about the exercise
yard, Overton drew Folmer to one
side. "Could you make your escape
in that direction," he asked, "if it were
made possible for you to get over the
wire?"

THE WHIPS OF DOOM

141

Folmer turned his head in the direc-
tion in which Overton had indicated.
"That would be perfect," he said. As
a matter of fact, there's a French un-
derground unit located in a farm-
house almost in a direct line of that
open field. I could weave my way
through the tall grass, get into that
clump of trees and, in a short while, be
safe in the arms of the underground."

QVERTON looked around before
speaking again. He saw that the
armed Gestapo guards who patroled
that particular spot were almost at the
extreme ends of their beat. For only
about another minute, their backs
would be turned to them. After that,
they would right about face smartly
and return.

"Could you make it now?" he de-
manded breathlessly.

"What's on your mind?"

" A plan for your escape. Get ready!
I'm going to throw myself on the wire!"

But Folmer grabbed hold of his arm.
"I won't let you do itl" he protested.
"There's no reason for you to kill your-
self because of me!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Overton
could see that the guards were still
walking with their backs turned.
"You've got to!" he said quietly. "It's
the only way!"

"And have you kill yourself?"

"That wouldn't matter," Overton
said. "I've got an odd feeling. Some-
how, it seems to me that I'm dead
already. . . ."

"Bosh!"

Overton continued through the in-
terruption, "And that, in some strange
way, I'm living now on borrowed time."
He pulled his arm from Folmer's in-
sistent grasp. "Hurry now!" he said.
"Follow directly after me! I'll throw
myself directly onto the wire. That
will short-circuit the entire system.

Then, with your rubber-soled gym-
shoes, you'll run over my body, in case
the wire is not completely short-cir-
cuited and make your escape!"

"Don't do it !" Folmer implored.

But, when Overton had pulled him-
self away, Folmer followed immediately
after, a few paces behind. He saw Over-
ton approach the wire fence, in the cen-
ter of two wide-spread posts, where the
wire sagged in the middle. He tried to
close his eyes when he saw his friend
continue running forward, without stop-
ping, and throw himself bodily at the
strands of sagging wire. Immediately
at contact, a bright, blinding flash of
light came from Overton's body. And
as Folmer continued forward, he could
smell the sickly-sweet odor of burning
human flesh issuing from tiny spirals of
smoke that were curling up from Over-
ton's body.

Without stopping, Folmer ran for-
ward and leaped upon Overton's out-
stretched body. Up and over he went.
Then he jumped clear of the fence and
was soon speeding toward the field of
tall grass directly ahead. For a split
moment, he turned backward to view
the scene he was leaving. The backs of
the guards were still turned. If he could
make the field in time, he could avoid
being observed by them. And not until
some time later would his absence be
discovered. This would give him ample
time to get through the field, the trees
and into the clear of the Underground.

And, then, another sight caught his
eye. It impinged itself on his brain in
that fleeting second and, for the rest of
his life, he was unable ever to forget it.

For, stretched out on the wire, his
arms spread-eagled, he saw Overton —
dead — as though he had been crucified.

r J" , HE automobile coughed its way up
the steep incline. Finally, when it
reached the top of the peak, it spurted

142

AMAZING STORIES

forward on the flat road. In the car,
U.S. Deputy Marshal Mike Rafferty sat
behind the wheel with his friend
"Shorty" Summers, of the Bar Y Ranch.

"The Penitentes had quite a shindig
up here," Rafferty said to Shorty. "So I
thought I'd drop up and see how things
come out." He chewed the ever-present
blade of grass in his mouth. "Never can
tell what's going to happen to those guys
when a tenderfoot's up among 'em!"

Shorty suddenly cried out. "Lookee!"
he said.

Rafferty looked ahead. Off of the
road, to one side, he saw an enormous
cross. Around it were stationed other
smaller crosses. It was the site of the
Penitente's annual crucifixion.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

"At the big cross!" Shorty cried.
"There's a man strung up on it! "

"Damn!" Rafferty stepped on the ac-
celerator and soon had the car near to
where the crosses were standing. He
hastily got out and, followed by Shorty,
went over to where the largest cross was
standing. Shorty shinnied up the up-
right and, with a knife, cut the cords

from around the dead body so that it
fell to the ground with a bump. Then
he shinnied down to where Marshal
Rafferty was standing next to the body.

"Who it is?" Shorty demanded.

"The tenderfoot, all right!" Rafferty
sniffed the air. "Smell anything
funny?" he asked.

Shorty sniffed. "Yeah," he said,
"like something burning, like me when
I got my hand caught in the branding
fire!"

The Marshal bent down and exam-
ined the body more closely. He seemed
particularly interested in the enor-
mous, blistered welts that criss-crossed
the corpse.

"Hmm!" he said aloud as he spat
out the chewed-up blade of grass, "first
time I ever heard of the Penitentes do-
ing a thing like that."

"Like what?"

"Like electrocuting their victims
with live wires," he announced, shak-
ing his head dolefully as he turned
away to return to the car for a
stretcher.

THE SEARCH FOR POWER
By ANSON COLMAN

IN THE never-ending search which engineers
are carrying on for new sources of power,
there appears constantly new ideas of har-
nessing everyday phenomena to man's tasks. It
Is becoming more evident each day that the supply
of power from coaf and other fuels is distinctly
, limited, especially when compared to the ever-in-
creasing rate of use. Estimates of the day of
reckoning vary, but 200 years seems conservative.
What will happen to our vaunted mechanical world
then, we can only guess.

To answer this problem, scientists and engineers
throughout the world are working strenuously to
find new sources of power. Their work has taken
them far and wide, from one corner of the earth
to the other to discover new supplies of coal.
Others, aware that such discoveries will only delay
the day of power exhaustion, are trying to find
new ways of utilizing natural phenomena which,
they all agree, contain limitless supplies of power.

In these investigations great progress has al-
ready been made. Investigators have found dozens
of other sources for this power, arid any one of
them would supply energy far beyond our pos-
sible needs . . . that is, if a way can be found to
release this power for man's use.

From time immemorial men have dreamed of
harnessing the power of the sun. It has been their
hope that they could make use directly of the
light and heat which is given off by the sun in
such enormous quantities. Enough solar heat is
received to melt a terrestial layer of ice 424 feet
thick every year. Engineers have estimated that
during an eight hour day in the tropics, the sun
lavished on a single square mile energy equivalent
to that released by the combustion of 7400 tons
of coal. About eighteen hundred times more en-
ergy inundates the Sahara that is contained in
the coal mined in the course of a year. And in a
single day that vast desert space receives three

THE SEARCH FOR POWER

143

times as much energy as is contained in all the
coal we burn in an entire year.

There have been many attempts to harness the
tremendous energy wbtch falls upon the earth each
day. John Ericsson, the ingenious builder of the
Monitor, was the first to invent a trap to catch
this free energy. He invented a huge concave mir-
ror which reflected and concentrated the sun's rays
on a blackened boiler at the focal point and
which was mechanically turned so that it followed
the sun. Ericsson generated steam in his strange
boiler and succeeded in driving pumps and other
machines with high efficiency.

Professor Baly has tried to capture the power
of the sun for human use by imitating the material
processes whereby the "living vegetable cells" of
green plants store and utilize solar power. With
the aid of the sun's ultra-violet rays, he has made
sugar out of carbon dioxide. It has been calcu-
lated that, in a tank about 100 feet square, 374
pounds of sugar, the equivalent of 154 pounds of
coal, can thus be synthesized. Some experimen-
ters suggest that some day sugar will be produced
synthetically so cheaply that it will replace coal
as a source of energy.

The difficulties inherent in directly utilizing the
energy of the sun seem overwhelming. Other sci-
entists have turned to the tropical seas as a source
of power to save the situation. Professor George
Claude, inventor of the neon light, and Dr. Nikola
Tesla, have maintained for a long time that the
thermal energy in the bottom of the tropical seas
is immeasurable. Professor Claude has told the
French Academy of Science that the construction
of the necessary plant is no more diffcult than
the laying of a transatlantic cable.

Not satisfied with just discussing the possibili-
ties of utilizing the inexhaustible store of power
in tropical waters, Professor Claude has taken the
first practical step in that direction. At his Ma-
tanzas, Cuba, plant he has, with the aid of a
giant tube, converted the varying energies of the
ocean into power with which to light electric bulbs.
The principle is a simple one. In the tropic seas
are two water supplies of unlimited qualities and
unchanging temperatures throughout the year.
There are the surface waters which retain a tem-
perature varying between 79 and 86 degrees Fah-
renheit, with a maximum variation at any one
place of five degrees. Then there are the icy
waters found at a depth of 1000 yards or more
of a constant temperature of 40 degrees Fahren-
heit, which rarely varies more than one or two
degrees throughout the year.

The device which Professor Claude has created
makes use of this steady variation in temperature
on a principle similar to that applied in the steam
boiler. Instead of applying fuel to heat the water
to the boiling point of 212 degrees Fahrenheit,
however, he makes use of the well-known principle
that water can be made to boil at any temperature
by correspondingly lowering the pressure. On the
top of a mountain, water boils more easily than at

sea level because the atmosphere does not press
down upon it so hard. By producing a vacuum it
ia thus possible to make the surface water of the
sea boil at its normal temperature of 79 to 86 de-
grees. The French scientist uses a special pump
to produce the desired vacuum and to make the
sea water boil.

The steam thus generated is made to pass
against a turbine. It makes the turbine turn and
then passes on to a condenser. At this point,
through a giant pipe-line, waters from the lower
depths at a temperature near freezing are lifted to
the surface and sent through the condenser, com-
pressing the steam exhausted from the turbine.
This causes a vacuum which again lowers the pres-
sure on the surface waters and causes them to
boil over, producing more steam to make the tur-
bine go. The turbine is connected to a shaft of
a dynamo which generates electric power. The
starting vacuum pump is cut off after the water
in the "boiler" begins to give off steam, the sea
itself at this stage becoming the agency which
produces the vacuum to boil the surface waters
and to condense the steam.

These two methods by no means designate the
limit of possible new sources of power. Engineers
claim, for example, that inexhaustible power can
be obtained by taking advantage of the intense
heat in the earth's vast interior. The late Sir
Charles A. Parsons, inventor of the steam turbine
and one of the great engineers of our time, once
laid a plan before the British Association for* the
Advancement of Science for sinking a shaft twelve
miles down into the center of the earth. Such a
hole would cost from $25,000,000 to $100,000,000.
It would have to overcome the terrific heat, boil-
ing hot water gushing from subterranean springs,
and immense pressures. Such a project, however,
could easily supply the energy far beyond the
requirements for the entire United States.

Other scientists have spoken about and experi-
mented with the use of wind power. It is cal-
culated that there is at least 5000 times as much
energy in the free winds as in the world's annual
coal production. The imaginative J. B. Haldane
has predicted that some day all homes may be
equipped with a metallic windmill working electric
motors which in their turn would supply the
current need to run the household. The solution
to the problem of maintaining a steady supply of
the power in the face of the capriciousness of the
wind could be to allow the wind to drive electric
generators and that the electrical power be bottled
in storage batteries for use whenever needed. If
some satisfactory storage system mechanism is ever
developed, wind power would provide more than
enough energy to drive aB the world's machinery.

Despite all difficulties, scientists throughout the
world have confidence that we will not only find
a ready substitute for coal, but we will discover
new sources of power that will turn the wheels of
the world more cheaply and more efficiently than
ever before.

TR UK ISLAND

By BERKELEY LIVINGSTON

LONG before Pearl Harbor, tbree
Americans were waging- relentless war
against a subterranean race oi Japs

" pi ORRY, Tom, but I think your

Tom Flynn stopped pacing
back and forth past his desk and looked
at the speaker.

Larry Upton sat upon the stationary
bicycle in Flynn's office. He was intent
on the meter attached to the handle-
bars and was pedaling as hard as his
legs could churn.

Flynn, his flushed face reflecting the
disappointment he felt, took the cigar
from his lips, eyed the charred end,
then threw it away.

"Aw now, Larry," he said pla-
catingly, "don't be a damn fool. Can't
you

Larry broke in, without looking up:
"How fast ya think I'm goin', Tom?"

Flynn strolled over, looked at the
meter, and said:

"Oh, 'bout forty I guess ... Aw
now, Larry, cut the clownin'l For-
gan's waiting for an answer. He's got
Miss Hart in his office right now; and
from what I've seen of that dame —
whew!"

He blew his breath out explosively
to show his disapproval of Miss Hart.

Larry Upton smiled at Flynn's ges-
ture. It was an affectionate smile.
Larry had a deep admiration for the
plump little man in the extravagantly
striped blazer. He liked his flamboy-

145

AMAZING STORIES

ant manner; his huge office with the
gymnastic fittings; his penchant for
loud clothes and expensive cigars.
Aside from those extraneous Holly-
wood mannerisms, Larry liked Tom
Flynn for those things which made him
what he was, one of the motion picture
industry's best loved producers.

"What the hell's the matter with you,
boy? You've been in this screwy busi-
ness for ten years "

"You're not complaining, are you,
Tom?" Larry broke in. He had stopped
his furious pedaling.

" — and when I give you Who's

complaining? Best stunt man in Hol-
lywood — your chance at the biggest
thing we've ever tried, you give me
the go-by."

Upton's voice was gentle but the
irony in his voice was not lost on Flynn
when he answered:

"Sure. You're giving me a chance.
At what? Playing nursemaid to this
Hart woman?"

Flynn sighed windily and wished
again he was back in die contracting
business. Bricks, mortar and forms
were such substantial things. This
picture business was so God-damned
irritating.

Take Larry Upton for instance. He
had the three things that went to make
for becoming a star: looks, figure,
personality. But did he capitalize on
them? No! He was satisfied with
being a stunt man. Flynn gave him
mental credit for at least being the
best stunt man in Hollywood. Which
thought brought him back to why he
had called Upton in.

"Now look, Larry," he began again,
conciliation deep in his tone, "look at
this thing from my viewpoint. For-
gan's the big shot in Apex. He gets
a brainstorm a while back. About
this Emily Hart dame. First woman
to fly the Atlantic. He remembers

she said she wants to fly around the
world. So he, the goon, offers to
finance that little trip."

"So that's how Miss Hart became a
member of the Apex Newsreel family,"
Larry reflected aloud.

"Yep! " Flynn said. "So he's financ-
ing the ride. To the tune of half a
million. D'ya see why I called you
in? You're our insurance. That dame
may be the greatest flyer in the world.
But she can't do it alone."

J^ARRY got off the cycle and walk-
ing over to Flynn's desk, seated
himself in Flynn's chair. He lit a cig-
arette and said casually:

"Okay, I get it. Now give me the
actual set-up. And never mind the
glory at the end of the rainbow."

Flynn grinned in relief. He had
won Upton over.

"That's swell, Larry," he said grate-
fully. "Sure, I'll give you the set-up.
And it ain't clean either. As far as
you're concerned, it's going to be one
hell of a mess.

"You're going along as navigator and
co-pilot. Dick CraneH handle the
camera details. Arrang— — . What's
wrong now?"

Upton's face had lost its air of good-
natured indulgence. Anger made white
dimples at the corners of his mouth.
A muscle beat a tattoo under the skin
of his jaw.

"What's that about Crane?" he
asked in a low voice.

"He's going to handle the camera
angle. That's what it's all about. Apex
financed the deal with the stipulation
we get exclusive film coverage. First
time in history that "

"Count me out!"

"Why?"

"Crane's in."

"Smatter, Larry — afraid?"

"You know better. I just don't

TRUK ISLAND

147

want any trouble."

"Aw listen, Larry," Flynn burst out
in exasperation, "why the hell don't
you forget about it?"

"Look. I don't like 'Camera' Crane.
And if I'm going to be in his company
for any length of time— well— planes
have doors."

"Sure. And both you guys have
red-hot tempers. So Apex loses half
a million, Tom Flynn goes back to the
contracting business and -"

"What's that Tom?" Upton asked
in surprise.

"That's right," came the calm an-
swer. "Why d'ya think I'm so hepped
up on all this? Apex is in a hole. This
thing can get us out. But only with
your help. Sure we can get pilots.
Lots. But none like Larry Upton.
Take my word. Without you it's a
failure. And I'll be washed up, along
with Apex."

"Okay, Tom, you win. But get this!
I'm doing it for you. So better tell
Crane to stay out of my way."

Flynn grinned inwardly. He didn't
relish the trick he'd pulled on Upton.
There was one truth, however, among
the lies. Larry Upton was the best
pilot they could possibly find.

"Great 1" he exclaimed. "Let's go
over and see Forgan. He's got Miss
Hart in his office now; so you can meet
her and settle whatever details need to
be settled."

gMILY HART was in Forgan's of-
fice, all right. They could hear
her voice even in the corridor outside
the office. As Flynn opened the outer
office door, they heard her voice.

" — and understand this! I'm to be
in sole charge. If you've any idea of
using me as publicity bait, you can just
get it out of your mind. Because I'm
going to hold you to the letter of our
contract."

They heard Forgan's deep-throated
reply:

"Don't worry, Miss Hart. You're
in charge. Just as you wanted. But
the movie angle must be run by my
men."

"Not if I " Emily Hart stopped

short in her heated retort. The door
had opened and two men stood on the
threshold. One was short, middle-
aged, with a red, childish-looking face.
She smiled at sight of the awning striped
blazer he wore. Then she noticed his
companion and a puzzled pucker
creased her forehead. She knew the
little man, but his tall, handsome com-
panion . . .

Flynn led the way, going directly to
the girl and saying, as he took her hand
in both of his:

"Hello, my dear. Still letting your
temper run away with you, I see."
Then to the tall, gray-haired man who
stood glowering down at the girl, "Now,
Jim. I'm surprised!" She didn't see
the broad wink he gave Forgan.
"Pickin' on Miss Emily again."

"By the way, Emily," he continued,
motioning Larry over, "let me introduce
Larry Upton your co-pilot."

Larry started to acknowledge the in-
troduction when she suddenly let her
hand drop and said :

"So! Now I get it. Glamor-boy
here is to be my pilot, is he? Not if I
can help it. Forgan, you're head of
Apex. You're also head of Colossal
Productions. Now I know why the
picture tie-in with this trip. Glamor-
boy here is "

"Please, Miss Emily," Flynn hastily
broke in, trying to stop her. He had
seen the storm brewing in Larry's eyes.
But it was no use. She continued, as
though Flynn didn't exist:

" — going to be Colossal's new 'hero.'
I can see the paper and magazine fea-
tures all ready set up for "

148

AMAZING STORIES

"Jealous, beautiful?"

She stopped short and turned from
Forgan to confront Larry. Angry color
swept into her cheeks.

"What did you say?"

He repeated the question.

Her lips curved in a sweet smile.
Then her hand moved up — too swiftly
for Larry to prevent— in a vicious slap
that left white finger marks against his
suddenly reddened skin.

"That," she said, still smiling, "was
for your ego, not for what you said."

"You know," Larry said through
pursed lips, "I think I'm going to like
this trip. You're going to be there and
Dick Crane. I'm going to have to take
care of three things: a plane, Crane
and Emily Hart."

"Don't concern yourself about me,
glamor-boy. I'm walking out on this
deal."

Larry's eyes were directed over her
head, as if he were seeing new horizons.
He said:

"So Emily Hart, the famous aviatrix,
takes a powder on Apex. But that's
only to be expected. If she can't play,
there's no ball game. And the half-
million Apex has spent — well, they
have a plane for it."

He suddenly looked her straight in
the eyes.

"Or is it that Miss Hart is afraid I
may want to share the spotlight? Be-
cause if she is, she can stop worrying.
I'm afraid I'm going to be much too
busy to give a hang, one way or the
other."

'Y'HEIR eyes met . . . held. Abrupt-
ly Larry turned and left the office,
closing the door gently behind him.

Miss Hart appeared bored — if you
didn't notice her eyes. She said: "He
pouts nicely, does our pretty boy . . .
All right, Forgan, you can make the
final arrangements. Tell Upton to meet

me at the Frisco airport on the six-
teenth. We'll need a few days' workout
on the plane. Have Crane down there
too."

Flynn watched the trim figure of Em-
ily Hart walk out. He wiped a fine
bead of perspiration from his brow.
There was a glint of anger in his eyes
as he turned sharply to face Forgan.

"Jim Forgan," he rasped, "you're the
damndest fool I've ever known. First,
this round-the-world-flight brainstorm.
Then you get this tempermental girl for
the job. That's bad enough. So you
had to make it worse by getting a fight-
happy cameraman like Crane. And to
top it off, you want Upton for co-pilot.
Where the hell is your sense?"

"Now take it easy, Tom," Forgan
pleaded. "Getting mad isn't going to
make things better."

"No. But I've been wantin' to tell
you off ever since this thing began. I

don't want to be a kill-joy, but Oh

hell, Jim, no use going any further. It's
done. All we can do is hope for the
best."

Flynn sighed heavily. A sigh in which
he was joined by Forgan. They turned,
as if by mutual agreement, to face the
picture of a two-motored plane which
hung on the wall behind Forgan's desk.
Black letters along the gleaming sides
read, The Argo.

CHAPTER II

gELOW, the Pacific was blue; bluer
than any water Larry Upton had
ever seen. Now and then the blue be-
came flecked with white: waves break-
ing. Cloud pillars stretched limitless
miles, covering the foreground from
water-line to sky. Their feather edges
were golden-tinted, the reflection of a
setting sun.

It was Larry's turn at the controls.
He sat there, body comfortable against

TRUK ISLAND

149

the seat, and silently ruminated on the
past few days. They hadn't, somehow,
been as he had imagined they'd be.

He had been burning with anger when
he left Forgan's office. His anger was
directed at Flynn, Forgan and the red-
haired Miss Hart. But mostly he had
been mad at himself. For letting Flynn
talk him into this ridiculous business
and for putting himself into a position
where he had to follow through.

Then he came down to the San Fran-
cisco airport and had received the first
of a number of surprises. Emily Hart,
a trim figure in flying togs, had wel-
comed him warmly. He couldn't im-
agine why, after the reception she had
given him in Forgan's office. She had
shown him through The Argo, the plane
they were going to use. She was wildly
enthusiastic about it, an enthusiasm in
which he shared.

For the ship was a pilot's dream
plane. The latest in aero-dynamic
science had gone into its construction.
A special dark room had been installed
so that Crane could develop any film he
shot, without waiting to reach places
where it could otherwise be done. Fur-
ther, all the latest inventions of the air-
plane world had been installed. De-
frosters on the wing flaps, gyroscope
controls, the finest of two-way radio
equipment, and the latest type of liq-
uid-cooled engines. It was a perfect
plane.

He remembered their reception at
Honolulu ... and felt the plane
lurch. Quickly he looked about him
and his throat tightened.

That huge cloud world which had
seemed so far away, was now all around
them. They were flying through gray-
ish-black mist; a world of vapor. Pale,
brush-like fire gleamed along the wing
edges.

"Damn!" Larry whispered the exple-
tive silently. "Should've kept a sharper

lookout. Now we're in for it. I've got
to climb out of this mess."

He saw the altimeter needle hovering
at the eight thousand mark. He was
surprised, because they usually flew at
six thousand. The air currents were less
treacherous at that point.

Suddenly a huge fork of lightning
shot out of the black, thunder cannon-
aded against his ear-drums, and rain
poured from the cloud masses. He felt,
rather than saw, Emily Hart crawl into
the seat beside him. He watched her
from the corner of his eye. Lightning
illuminated her features and lent an un-
earthly glow to her golden-colored skin.
Her auburn hair seemed to flame in the
unnatural brightness. She smiled and
said:

"Our first storm! Reminds me of one
I was in over the Atlantic."

Larry was too busy with the controls
to vouchsafe more than a grunted,
"Yes?"

Something was wrong. Very wrong!
The plane wouldn't climb! In fact he
had to fight to keep it level. She kept
on talking: something about some fool
storm she had once been in. He wished
she would stop talking. Finally he
snarled:

"Shut up! And see if the gyroscope
is working."

She returned in a few seconds. Softly
she delivered the blow:

"No."

J ARRY had flown in storms before.

But never one like this. It seemed
possessed with a positive physical will.
A will that was set on their destruction.
A demonic wind had arisen, buffeting
them about as if the plane were a puff-
ball. In a matter of seconds they would
fall and rise thousands of feet.

The fury of the storm increased. The
thunder and lightning were continuous.
Larry became aware of a third person

150

AMAZING STORIES

in the pilot's cabin. It was Crane, their
cameraman.

Dimly he heard Crane's hoarse voice.
But now he was conscious only oi two
things: this mad storm and the ship. For
a few moments the wind relented and
the plane flew on an even keel. But at
an unbelievable speed. Larry looked
at the gauge in shocked disbelief. Three
hundred and fifty miles an hourl It
couldn't be. No wind was that strong.

Then the wind possessed them again.
It spun them around like a top. Larry
felt Crane's barrel-like body strike
against his chair and carom off. His
body pressed against the restraining
strap as the plane went into a nose dive.
He heard Emily Hart give voice to a
protesting squeal as the strip bit deep
into her middle. It was the only sound
she made. His wrist and fingers felt
numb from fighting the controls. Noth-
ing he could do seemed to help.

Down they went — to a thousand feet;
then abruptly the plane straightened
and flew onward. Again Larry tried to
ascend. And again his efforts proved
futile.

He became aware of something wet
falling against the back of his neck. He
turned and stared into the face of Crane.
Crane's nose was bleeding and the red
drops were what Larry had felt.

"Well, hot-shot, what do we do now?"
Crane rumbled. His squat thick body
was braced against the pilot seat, while
his hands gripped the arm braces in the
wall. His hoarse voice was oddly mat-
ter-of-fact.

"You ever pray?" Larry asked.

"Why?"

"Well, you'd better do just that. Be-
cause only a prayer can help us now."

"H'm. So that's it? Guess I'll stick
around for the finale," Crane said.
There was no fear in his voice. Only a
calm acceptance of the situation.

Larry felt a grudging respect for the

man. In spit of his dislike for Crane,
he had to admire the man's courage. He
remembered, too, that Crane had been
unusually civil during the trip, a fact
Larry attributed to Flynn.

Then his attention came back to the
plane again. The controls! They felt
strangely light to his fingers. Hastily
he worked at them for a few seconds.
They responded beautifully. Too well
in fact. It was as though they were
immersed in oil. They gave meaning-
lessly to his slightest touch. Even as he
jiggled the stick back and forth, Larry
gave the terse command:

"Life jackets ! The controls are shot !
Crane — radio our position; the girl'll
give it to you

"Sorry, Larry." She spoke for the
first time since he had told her to "shut
up." "Our radio is shot too. So I guess
we'd all better take your advice. And
pray."

He turned a wondering glance in her
direction. Her lips bore a pensive smile.
And her narrow green eyes were un-
afraid. Suddenly he grinned. Maybe
he was wrong about these two. And the
courage which the wind had drained
from him returned.

JTE PEERED ahead and to the sides,
trying to pierce the semi-gloom.
The lightning and thunder had disap-
peared. Only the wind remained. The
clouds hung thick as ever about them.
Then he noticed the compass. It was
pointingwest by south-west. He couldn't
understand. It was as though the wind
was purposely blowing them in that di-
rection. An hour went by. And they
still sped at that mad three hundred and
fifty miles an hour pace.

Larry, saw now that the clouds were
turning darker. Night was falling.
Then, as suddenly as they had entered
them, they were out of the clouds, the
wind and the storm. Out of the frying

TRUK ISLAND

151

pan and into the fire. A thousand feet
of altitude and a plane out of control.
It was hopeless and Larry knew it.

Below, the ocean ran in long swells.
The horizon cut a setting sun neatly in
two. It was the end.

"Crane," Larry issued quick com-
mands, "get some stuff into that raft.
Drop it through the hatchway. Then
you and Miss Hart hit the silk. I'll
take our log and follow."

Neither Crane nor the girl hesitated.
In a few seconds they were at the hatch-
way, waiting for him.

"Jump," he shouted, as he felt the
ship's nose turn downward. He saw the
girl start back. Then Crane had his arm
around her waist . . . and they were
gone. He watched with bated breath,
then breathed a sigh of relief when he
saw the parachutes blossom out. Then
he was busy with the plane again.

It was just starting into a slow, spiral-
ing spin, the outcome of which would be
a head-on crash with the ocean. Al-
ready it was too late for Larry to follow
the other two. He had but one choice.
To stick with the plane and hope for a
belly landing. And enough time to get
out before the plane sank.

It all took a matter of a few seconds.
He had time only to unsnap the safety
belt and switch off the ignition. Then
there was a deep blue world of water
all about him. Almost hopelessly he
tugged at the loose controls. And felt
them take hold. But the motors were
out! He knew the plane wouldn't level
off. It did though; for the barest sec-
ond. And then it crashed.

Larry Upton flew forward to land
with a thud against the instrument
panel. His head struck hard against
the glass; pain sent waves of blackness
through it and he lost his senses.

J>AIN licked at his forehead, when he
opened his eyes. Then he gasped

and strangled on salt water.

"Ugh, ugh," he gasped, rolling his
head to see where he was. There was
an arm around his Chest—Crane's arm.
He turned and saw the other's face.
There was a wide grin on it.

"Hello, hot-shot," Crane said, as he
swam in a strong, one-armed crawl.

Larry nodded weakly. For the mo-
ment he was content just to be carried
along this way. Then, as strength re-
turned to his weary body, he twisted
away from Crane and began to swim
under his own power. Crane pointed to
a bobbing object fifty yards off. Larry
recognized it as the rubber raft. Emily
Hart was on it, waving them on. She
helped Crane drag him aboard. Larry
lay there for a few moments until he felt
the numbness leave his mind and body.
The other man and the woman regarded
him intently as he lay there.

Overhead, the first stars were appear-
ing. The short tropic twilight was end-
ing. The sky appeared serene and blue-
black. Of the storm there was no sign.
The three lay silent for a time. Then
Crane said:

"Okay. .Here we are, floating around
on this hunk of rubber. What do we
do now?"

Crane asked the question of Larry.
It was his way of asking him to assume
the leadership.

"How do we stand on provisions?"
was Larry's first question.

"We don't! The guys who thought
up those kits forgot to pack them in
floatable containers. All we have is
what you see."

And what Larry saw didn't do much
for his morale. They were on a rubber
raft, seven by five feet in size, and
about eight inches deep. It was sea-
worthy if the water remained calm.
But even in the swell that was running,
it was shipping a little water. Larry
was afraid to think of what could hap-

1S2

AMAZING STORIES

pen fn a heavy sea.

"We could be worse off," he said after
deliberation.

"Oh yeah?" Crane retorted. "Not
much. No food, no nothing; here we
are on this skimpy raincoat, and hot-
shot here says we could be worse off. I
suppose you got it all figured out — just
how soon we'll be picked up, and all
that."

Larry's temper flared up.

"We can skip the wise-cracks,
mister," he said hotly. "Matter of
fact, we'll sight land within twenty-
four hours. Think that tender belly of
yours can do without food that long?"

"Don't worry about my gut being
able to take it. You'd just better be
right, hot-shot."

"And if I'm not?"

"Just a moment, gentlemen."

They turned startled faces to Emily
Hart. The accent on the word gentle-
men had not escaped them.

"If you two barroom brawlers don't
mind, I'd like to ask a question or two
myself. Would Mr. Upton mind ex-
plaining how he deduced we'd sight land
in twenty-four hours?"

T ARRY gave her a sour look. These
women I Always sticking in
their lip at the wrong time. And of
course this was the wrong time, be-
cause he had no answer to her question.
He answered without hesitation, how-
ever. It would have been fatal to do
anything else.

"Sure, I'll explain. Eight hours out
of Hawaii. About eighteen hundred
miles. Then the storm. Wind blew us
west by southwest at three hundred and
fifty miles an hour for about two hours.
Now look at our raft's drift. North-
west. We plotted our course to by-pass
the Carolines. But the wind blew us
practically over them. So I say that
with this drift we'll hit one of those

atolls before another day."

He was a little surprised to see her
take all that without question. He knew
how lame it sounded to his own ears.
But take it she did. For she turned on
Crane and said:

"That's the answer to one question.
Now, as for you, where do you think
you are — on the Colossal lot? I know
all about you and glamor-boy here. So
save your fighting until we reach land."

Crane burst into raucous laughter.

"Glamor-boy she calls him. Haw haw.
If that ain't the best! Okay, tutz, I'll
keep shut."

Larry felt a retort rise to his lips but
kept it down. Even in the face of
Crane's gleeful chortling.

The two men spelled each other
through the long night while the girl
slept. She awoke with the sun's rising
and took over the watch while they
caught a few hours' sleep.

They were awakened by the gladdest
cry they'd ever heard:

"Land I Larry! Crane! Look, over
there ! "

They saw it; a smudge of darkness
against the blue water. They were still
too far from it to make out the con-
figuration of the land. But land it was.
Several hours passed before they were
close enough to know for certain that it
was no mirage.

It was an island, of the sort usually
to be found in that part of the Pacific.
Larry saw the high ridge of a small
mountain chain. Bits of driftwood came
floating by, enough to give them a means
of propulsion.

It was arduous work in the broiling
heat of the afternoon sun. The men
stripped to the waist. The girl envied
them that privilege. While they rowed
with the improvised oars, she kept a
sharp lookout for signs of human habi-
tation. She saw none.

Larry saw, on closer inspection, that

TRUK ISLAND

153

although there was a coral reef to the
atoll — for that was what it proved to be
— the surf rolled in smooth wavelets
onto the sandy shore. He was glad to
see the absence of breakers. Their craft
was too fragile to have endured the
pounding of heavy surf. And coral rbck,
he knew, was as sharp as a knife blade.

The beach on which they landed was
breath-taking in its beauty. The coral
gleamed pink and red and, within the
rim of the ring, cocoa palms marched in
stately procession down to the very
shore of the island.

Larry permitted himself only a mo-
ment's look, then came right down to
their immediate problem:

"Okay. We're here — safe and sound.
And over there is an island of some sort.
But this lagoon is too wide at this point.
So let's beach the raft and see if we
can't find a narrower crossing."

They were half-way around the rim,
when they came to a dip in the coral.
Larry was in the lead and as he came to
the crest of the rise, he came face to face
with a man in uniform. He was a Jap-
anese sailor.

'Y'HEY stared at each other in sur-
prise for a few seconds, then Larry
extending his hand in a gesture of greet-
ing, shouted:

"Bro — therl Am I glad to see "

He stopped short in amazement as the
sailor hissed a few strange words
through his teeth, unslung the bayon-
eted rifle from his shoulders and thrust
the point at Larry. Again he hissed
through his teeth.

There was no mistaking the gesture,
even if Larry couldn't understand the
words, Larry's hands shot skyward,
just as Crane and the girl came up.
Again the hiss and gesture. Crane's
hands aped Larry's.

The sailor motioned them forward.
There was nothing else to do but obey.

"Say, what goes?" Crane whispered.
Upton shrugged his shoulders as if to
say, "How do I know?" But when he
saw how pale the girl was, he said:

"Don't worry. The sailor boy can't
speak English. But we're all right.
This is probably one of the Caro— "
His voice was rising as they walked
along and their steps lagged. They
didn't hear the sailor approach. Crane
and Emily saw, too late, what hap-
pened.

The sailor shouted something and,
with the words, reversed his rifle and
drove the butt hard at the base of
Larry's skull. Had the stock landed,
his skull would have been split wide
open. But just as the blow fell, Larry
stepped on an outcropping of coral.
That saved his life. For the butt of
the rifle took him between the shoul-
der blades, knocking him down, almost
out.

So paralyzing was the blow that he
couldn't even lift his hands to cushion
his fall. The fine coral sand lacerated
his face. He lay there in agony, wait-
ing for the pain to pass. Dimly he
heard shouted words and the sound
of a scuffle. Then there was a grunted
sound and the smack of a fist being
driven home. The sound pleased him.
If only he could help. His arms had
become no more than leaden weights.

Again that smacking sound and then
a high scream. It came from the girl.
Larry rolled over on his back. What
he saw gave strength to him which he
had not known he possessed. The Jap-
anese, rifle held at the ready, was about
to impale Crane, prostrate, on the bay-
onet.

Larry scrambled to his hands and
knees and dived head first at the sailor.
It was a perfect football block, catch-
ing the other just behind the knees.
The Jap's body arched backward for a
second, then he fell forward as Larry

154

AMAZING STORIES

rolled hard against the pinioned legs.
The rifle flew into the air. The tables
were reversed; for now it was Crane
who held the gun.

"Get away from that yellow rat,"
Crane snarled. "I'm going to cut his
guts out!"

"If you please, gentlemen," a crisp
voice interrupted.

(^RANE pivoted .... and let the
rifle fall to the sand. Larry, scram-
bling erect, understood why when he
saw who was confronting them.

It was a party of Japanese sailors,
all armed. At the head was an offi-
cer of some kind. He held an auto-
matic in his hand. His ragged mus-
tache lifted to show yellowish, uneven
teeth.

"That is better," he said. "And now,
if you don't mind, how did this occur?"

Quickly, Larry explained. He finished
by adding:

"All I can say is that it was a hell
of a way to treat visitors I"

The officer smiled, bowed, and said:

"A thousand pardons! It was a
mistake I shall soon rectify. ... If
you please."

He took Larry's arm and walked
over to the recumbent Jap. The sailor
started to scramble erect, but halted
when the officer said something in the
monotonous tones of their language.
To Larry's horrified amazement, the
sailor bent in an attitude of obeisance
and murmured something to himself.
Then the officer put his pistol to the
back of the sailor's head and pulled
the trigger.

Larry felt nausea grip him when he
saw the effect of the shot. The bullet
literally tore the man's head open and
bone and blood spattered the sand.

"You see, Mr. Upton," said the offi-
cer in apologetic tones as he took Lar-
ry's arm again, "the man went beyond

his line of duty when he attacked
you. Death is the only discipline in
that case."

"Hey," whispered Crane hoarsely,
when Larry rejoined his companions,
"that guy's a killer. Why, he •"

"Shh," Larry cautioned.

The officer had returned to his men.
They heard him issue an order. The
squad wheeled about and marched off
as the officer came back to them.

"I have not spoken English in three
years. Ever since, in fact, I left your
Stanford University."

"I see," the girl said. "No wonder
you speak our language so well."

"Thank you."

"But where are we bound for?"
"The Japanese mandated island of
Truk."

Larry showed his surprise. Truk!
He'd heard of it. And also heard of
how secretive the Japs were about it.
Something about them forbidding other
nations access to the islands.

The captain was speaking, again:

"It is doubly an honor for me, Miss
Hart, for I have long wanted to meet
you."

"Really? Why?"

"Your flights have fascinated me.
Particularly the one to France."

She wanted to know why.

"Because you have vision — you can
see into the future. I believe you made
that trip on behalf of the United States
government, did you not?"

"Why, Captain, where did you hear
such a thing?"

He shrugged and smiled.

"Nevertheless, your theory of strato-
spheric flight is very interesting. And
very practical."

"Well, thank you, Captain."

He nodded his acknowledgement.

/^RANE and Larry had been an in-
terested audience to the dialogue.

TRUK ISLAND

155

Larry couldn't understand the girl. She
had seen the captain kill the sailor.
Yet she seemed to be the least affected
of the three whites.

"As a student of the military art,"
the captain resumed, "I can see the ad-
vantage of such flying. Anti-aircraft

has a limited range. Of course Ah,

here we are."

The three looked up. A gig was
drawn up on the beach. Half a dozen
sailors, their pant-legs rolled to their
knees, held the small boat steady, wait-
ing for the party to arrive. A corvette
stood a hundred yards off shore.

"Our home for this night," Homatu-
ki — the captain — said. "Forgive the
modesty of our welcome. Had we

known " he smiled and shrugged

his shoulders eloquently.

The captain of the ship proved to
be a Commander Hosubi, a plump lit-
tle smiling man whose English con-
sisted of, "Oh so?" "So solly," and
"hello."

"Looks like a Jap waiter I used to
know in a Sukiyaki joint out in Frisco,"
Crane whispered to Larry.

"Precisely what he was," Homatu-
ki's voice floated over their shoulders.
They were standing in the passageway
before the quarters given to their use.
They turned to face the ever smiling
captain.

"How's that?" Crane demanded.

Homatuki nodded his head several
times, as if he were pleased with his
thoughts, but did not answer. Instead
he said, "Good night, gentlemen," and
passed on.

Crane snarled, "I don't like that yel-
low boy," and opened the door.

Larry could see that something was
eating at the cameraman. And now
that they were alone, Crane was going
to spill his feelings. Larry sat on the
lower of the two bunks the cabin pos-
sessed and watched Crane pace back

and forth across the narrow room. He
noticed again how much Crane resem-
bled one of the orang-utans he'd seen
in zoos. There was an ape-like look
about Crane. Although he was of
medium height, he had a barrel chest
and tremendous shoulders. He was so
top-heavy he walked with a stoop, as
if the upper part of his body were too
great a load to carry erect. Further,
he had a broad, thick-skinned face, set
in a perpetual scowl which narrowed
the width of his forehead until it looked
as though it began at his eyebrows.

"Look, hot-shot," Crane began, paus-
ing directly in front of Larry, "you and
me, we don't jibe. I guess we both
know that. And why."

"Sure." Larry grinned up at the
other's ferocious face. "I'm a pretty
boy and a hot-shot pilot. And I don't
like you either."

Crane grunted and resumed:

"So skip it for now. What I want
to say is, I don't like this set-up. It
stinks, for my money. Something
about this Homa — something makes
me think of a rat what's got a cat in
a trap."

"And a very apt description, my boy.
Carry on."

"So I say to forget our— uh— differ-
ences and stick together while we're
here."

Larry stood up and strode over to
Crane. He shook the other's ham-
like hand and said:

"Agreed! Y'know, ape, there's times
when I admire you. Right now, for in-
stance. But let's hit the hay, eh?"

Crane didn't answer but began re-
moving his salt-encrusted clothing. Just
before Larry snapped off the wall light,
he said casually:

"Oh, by the way, thanks for pulling
me out of the ship."

It was an off-hand remark but Crane
felt the depth of feeling behind it.

156

AMAZING STORIES

Gruffly he answered.

"Forget it. Besides, we got to save
you for Colossal."

Larry laughed softly and turning on
his side, was asleep in a matter of sec-
onds.

CHAPTER III

'JTIEIR clothing, when they donned
it the next morning, was not only
free of salt but had been washed and
pressed as well. Someone had taken
it from their cabin during the night
and replaced it before dawn. That
someone had also put a steel shutter
over the port.

They looked at each other in an ex-
pressive silence, then both turned and
started for the upper deck. They had
a short journey. Only to the door.
Beyond stood a blue-clad marine. He
silently gestured them back.

Crane started to argue but Larry
pulled at his sleeve, holding him silent.

"Look, buddy," Larry said. "Get
Captain Homatuki; you know Homa-
tuki?"

The marine nodded, then slammed
the door in their faces.

"That I don't like," Larry mur-
mured.

The marine had evidently under-
stood; for a few moments later Homa-
tuki's ever-smiling presence was with
them.

Crane let go before Larry could stop
him:

"Say! What's the idea?"
The Jap lifted questioning eyebrows.
"You know — tie shutters on the
port?"
Larry cut in:

"Don't mind him, Captain. Just an
early morning grouch. But how's for
some breakfast and "

"Sorry, Upton," Homatuki said, "just
breakfast; that will be all until we en-

ter port. I have already instructed a
steward to serve you here. You see,
we are entering the harbor now and un-
til we have landed I must ask you to
remain in your quarters."

"So that was why the marine?"

The other nodded.

"Well, if that's the way it is. . . .
How about having breakfast with us?"
Larry suggested politely.

"Sorry, Upton. But I am having it
with Commodore Hosubi — and Miss
Hart."

The captain smiled again, bowed and
left.

"Oh," Crane mimicked the other's
voice, "so he's having it with Miss
Hart, is he?"

"Yes," said Larry reflectively, "and
I don't like it."

"Say!" Crane was suddenly re-
minded of something. "That dame's
gettin' kind of thick with that guy."

"So what?" Larry flamed. "That's
her affair."

Crane gave him an odd glance
through narrowed eyes. But Upton
had turned away and did not notice it.
It was a glance compounded of irrita-
tion and bewilderment.

TT TOOK several hours for their ship
to dock. And another before they
were permitted on deck. A startled
whistle was brought forth from Crane
when he saw where they were. Even
Larry exclaimed in amazement. It was
like a small Pearl Harbor when the en-
tire Pacific Fleet was in the bay.

There must have been at least a
hundred fighting ships in the immense
lagoon of the coral ring. Larry saw
three battle-wagons and half a dozen
carriers at anchorage. There were sev-
eral dozen smaller craft and at least
twenty large transports.

"Holy smoke!" said Crane, wide-
eyed. "Looks like they've got their

TRUK ISLAND

157

whole fleet out here."

Homatuki joined them then. For
once, his smile was gone. His face
held a vast pride and arrogance. And
his words held the same emotions:

"It stirs the senses, does it not?
There" — be pointed to the closest car-
rier — "the Osaki, our latest. We have
six in commission in her class alone.
The greatest fleet of carriers in the
world, and soon the world will know
it."

Larry wondered what had brought
that last remark on. He had no time for
questions though, for already Homa-
tuki was walking toward the gangplank.
Larry saw the reason for his haste.
Emily Hart was standing there, the
portly commander at her side. They
waited for the captain, then the three
descended, Larry and Crane following.

As they trailed along behind the
two Japs and the girl, Crane com-
plained:

"Hell! I'm not going to like this
place. Too hot."

Larry gave him a quizzical glance.
Crane was bathed in perspiration. It
ran in rivulets down his face and
dripped onto his shirt, which was al-
ready soaked through from body sweat.

"The tropics, you know," Larry re-
minded him as he dabbed furiously at
his own streaming pores.

Two cars were drawn up at the end
of the wharf. Commander Hosubi
shook hands formally with the three
whites, said something to Homatuki,
saluted, and stepped into one of the
cars. The others entered the second
car.

"I must report to my commanding
officer," Homatuki explained. "That
is where we are bound now. After-
ward I will see about quarters for you."

Homatuki's commanding officer was
a Colonel Toto. Larry had never seen
a man so militaristic in appearance.

Unlike most Japanese, Toto was tall
and carried himself with a ramrod
erectness. He had a short mustache
clipped a la Hitler. And he spoke in
terse clipped phrases. His English was
not so good as Homatuki's.

He did not offer his hand but bowed
stiffly with each introduction.

"So sorry for your accident," he
said. "No use, anyway. No good."

"Why?" Larry asked.

"Would be interned," came the
astounding reply. "Germany, England,
France at war!"

"When? How?"

"Since yesterday."

"Holy smoke, Colonel, we've got to
get back to the States! What about
us?"

Colonel Toto looked at him coldly.
Then instead of answering, he said
something in Japanese to Homatuki.
The captain interpreted:

"The Colonel is sorry, but he cannot
answer that question now and begs
to be excused. And now we will see
about your quarters."

It was a polite dismissal. But it did
not answer Larry's question. And
Larry suddenly had the feeling that
his questions weren't going to be an-

TATER that day Homatuki invited
Larry and Crane to dinner, an
invitation Larry wasted no time in ac-
cepting. The girl had also been invited
and was already there when the two
men arrived. Homatuki was a genial
host, supervising the somewhat stolid-
looking native servants. He apologized
a half-dozen times for the meal, al-
though it was complete even to the saki
served in small, dainty cups.

Crane made a wry face after drink-
ing a cup but the Japanese downed his
with relish.

"So," Homatuki began after the

158

AMAZING STORIES

servants had cleared away the drinks
and they relaxed on pillows, "Germany
has attacked. We knew of course that
she would."

"You knew?" Emily asked.

"Yes. Just as she knows our inten-
tions. But let us speak of other things.
Miss Hart tells me you are a pilot,
Upton. What do you think of our
latest attack planes?"

Larry remembered the squadrons of
planes he had seen droning overhead
several times.

"Pretty slick, from what I saw. Of
course, I don't know how well they're
made."

"There, you see, is the Western
viewpoint, quality. How well are they
made? We of the East have different
viewpoints. Men and material are ex-
pendable^ — and replaceable. Each can
but serve a momentary purpose. So
we do not think too much of their
quality."

"I don't think that's so, Captain,"
the girl remonstrated. "You boast of
your ships and your conquests, labeling
the generals and admirals who directed
those operations, the best."

"And so they are, my dear Miss Hart,
so they are."

"Some stuff," Crane put in sourly,
"knocking off the Chinese. The trou-
ble with you guys, you ain't never been
up against class."

"Class?"

"Sure! Like the U. S. for instance.
Why " Larry had driven his el-
bow into Crane's ribs eliciting a pro-
testing grunt from him.

"That's all right, Upton," Homatuki
said. "I don't mind. In fact Crane
represents the average American for
me: loud, boastful and stupid. A
stupidity shared, incidentally, by some
of your statesmen."

"Hey!" Crane burst out again.
"Take it easy."

"We of Japan have taken that stu-
pidity into account. And soon, at the
proper moment, Japan's destiny will
be fulfilled."

"And what, may I ask," asked Larry
softly, "is Japan's destiny?"

"The overthrow of the white races as
overlords. We are the master race.
Only we can rule."

"Very interesting. But how, Cap-
tain, how?"

"First a pooling of interests with the
proper powers. Alliances, treaties, all
the flummery of diplomacy; the lulla-
bys, as it were, then when they are
weakened from the prolonged struggle,
we will step in."

"You mean against your own allies?"

"Allies? A word invented for use on
a scrap of paper. Japan needs no
allies. You saw a portion of our might
assembled here. At the proper time
we will strike! Pearl Harbor first,
crippling your fleet there; then Singa-
pore, Hong Kong, the Philippines,
south to Australia, Vladivostok, Siberia,
China proper. The wealth jn oil, min-
erals, material of those nations will
make us invincible. We are prepared
to sacrifice ten million men. And we
will conquer!"

' 'HERE was an expression of such
implacable hatred on the Jap's face
that they were startled into silence.

"Holy cows, the guy's nuts!" Crane
whispered under his breath. Even
Larry thought the Jap a little mad.
It was Emily Hart who voiced the ques-
tion eating at Larry.

"Aren't you afraid we might repeat
this rather startling information, Cap-
tain?"

"Afraid? Do not be childish. Be-
sides it is not good manners for guests
to repeat the host's gossip."

The accent he had placed on "guests"
did not escape them.

TRUK ISLAND

159

"Don't you mean prisoners?" Larry
said.

"A more pleasant word, Upton, is
guest. Being a prisoner would lead to
confining and, sometimes, disciplin-
ary measures. As a guest of the Jap-
anese government you will be permitted
certain liberties. It will not be an al-
together unpleasant existence."

"Ain't that gonna be just too God-
damned ducky," Crane snarled, as he
got to his feet. "But me, I'm gonna
blow outa here. Right now!"

As if by magic, the snub-nosed auto-
matic appeared in Homatuki's hand.

"Sit down, fool," he commanded.

Crane glowered for a moment. But
the Jap held the trump card. He sat
down.

"Upton, better advise your friend
against doing anything so foolhardy as
trying to escape. I will not be re-
sponsible for what happens. I assure
you his punishment will not be light."

If Homatuki's boastful recital of
Japan's plans didn't put a damper on
any amenities which may have existed,
Crane's action did. They sat in a re-
sentful silence for a few more minutes,
then Emily asked to be excused.
Larry and Crane left soon afterward.

"So that's what we are — prisoners,"
Crane blurted when they came to the
hut assigned to them.

Larry put his fingers to his lips in
a gesture commanding silence. Then
he turned out the lights Crane had
switched on. A huge, full moon illumi-
nated the grounds about the hut. Larry
tiptoed to one of the two windows set
in opposite sides of the walls. A quick
look showed him the sentry pacing back
and forth only fifteen yards from the
hut. A fellow sentry also guarded the
front entrance. They were prisoners
in fact I

Larry sat down on the army cot that
was his bed.

"Shut up," he said irately, as Crane
started to beef again. "I want to
think."

He remained silent for so long, Crane
thought he had fallen asleep.

"Hey, hot-shot! What d'ya think?"

"Looks bad, ape," Larry answered.
"You see, even if we escaped, where
could we go? There's only one chance
we have. Those planes — if we can get
to one of those medium bombers I saw.

But even if we do " He left the

rest unsaid.

Crane supplied the missing words:

"We couldn't get more than a couple
a miles out, then — bingo — dead ducks.
That'll be us."

"Right! So let's hit the hay. To-
morrow we'll see what's around here."

tlOMATUKI was his usual bland
self when he appeared the next
morning.

Larry had warned Crane to be on bis
best behavior. Antagonizing the Jap
would only make trouble. And they
had to sail on peaceful waters for a
while.

It developed, during the drive, that
Homatuki was a captain in Marine In-
telligence. And full of facts and
figures.

"See there?" He pointed out a num-
ber of gun emplacements. "Antiair-
craft. We could put up a curtain of
fire that would be certain death for any
pilot foolhardy enough to brave them.
His entire island is ringed by them."

"You mean there are soldiers on the
other side also?"

"Of course. This is Truk the focal
point of our island empire. For its area,
it is more impregnable than Japan
itself."

Larry looked up at the mountains,
several miles off. They were driving
toward them. The Jap noticed the ex-
pression on Larry's face. His black

160

AMAZING STORIES

eyes glinted with amusement. What-
ever caused it remained a mystery
for the ten minutes required to reach
their destination, a shallow, level-
floored valley between two small, table-
topped cliffs.

The valley was the scene of a great
deal of confusion. Or so it seemed to
the two white men. Huge piles of
lumber were common, neatly stacked.
Natives, tall, brown-skinned men, were
engaged in taking boards from the
piles to some sort of construction going
on all over the valley. Larry and
Crane were quick to note that the na-
tives were guarded by armed Japanese
soldiers.

"This, gentlemen, should prove of
great interest to you," Homatuki began
to explain. "If you will observe, those
are the wooden frames of warships.
Not scale models, but actual and fac-
tual dimensions. When the workmen
are done, there will be eighteen war-
ships here — from capital ships to de-
stroyers."

"Don't get it," Larry said in a voice
of boredom.

"Patience," Homatuki consoled.
"This is Pearl Harbor." He grinned
broadly when he saw how the remark
affected the two men. "Those ships
you see are parts of your Pacific Fleet
at anchor. When construction is ended,
the scene will approximate the harbor
to a startling degree."

"Yes?" Larry whispered. He wasn't
aware of the hushed quality in his voice.

"Then the members of our naval air
force will take off from the carriers in
the harbor and practice bombing these
wooden models. Of course it will take
months to perfect the technique neces-
sary — but we Orientals have the pa-
tience."

Larry felt his gorge rise. In his mind
he could almost picture what Homa-
tuki had envisioned. He laughed, a

harsh sound. Crane's eyes narrowed
in speculation as he watched Larry.
He knew Larry better than the stunt
man realized. That laugh — it meant
trouble. Quickly Crane interjected a
remark as oil to calm the rising waves:

"Sounds good, Cap. But who's
gonna put our boys to sleep while all
this is going on?"

Homatuki's shrug was eloquent of
his feelings.

"What makes you think you are
awake, my friend?" he asked.

There was no answer to that.

Y ARRY had regained his inward
composure. A new thought had
come to him.

"Say! Where do you get the la-
borers?"

Homatuki looked annoyed at the
question. It was easy to see he wanted
to continue his boasting.

"Those? Islanders. Good for what
you see. A handful of rice a day, some
cotton for their women and they are
content."

"Yeah?" Crane grunted. "They
don't look so contented to me."

Homatuki shrugged his shoulders.

"Why concern yourselves with
them?" he asked. "Slaves, doing their
work."

"Have they — that is," Larry asked
carefully, "do they live on the island?"

Homatuki's attention had suddenly
switched to the file of the brown men
nearest them.

"Yes," he answered absently. He
had been slapping his thigh with a rid-
ing crop he carried. "They have a vil-
lage along the slope of that "

Then he made off at a run.

Larry and Crane looked confusedly
at each other for a few seconds. Then,
seeing what had brought the Jap's con-
versation to an end, they too ran to
the scene.

TRUK ISLAND

161

The long line of moving figures had
come to a stop. All eyes were fixed on
a group of five near the center of the
line. Larry and Crane arrived in time
to hear Homatuki brusquely question
one of the three soldiers in the small
group. Larry looked down to where a
native was lying on the ground. He
was stunned to see it was a woman.
Her terror-stricken eyes looked plead-
ingly at the Japs. And her breasts
heaved in fear. Beside her stood a
native, tall even by comparison to the
others, all of whom were six-footers.
Larry noticed on closer examination
that there was a sprinkling of women
and girls among the men. With the
huge boards across their shoulders
they all looked alike.

Larry looked at the native with in-
terest. He was a beautiful physical
specimen. But it wasn't the body that
interested him. Rather it was the ex-
pression of the features — the proud,
scornful look in the man's eyes, that
held the white men's attention.

Homatuki finished his interrogation
of the soldiers. Walking up to the na-
tive, he confronted him silently for a
few seconds, teetering back and forth
on his heels. The riding crop beat a
soft tattoo against his leg. He spoke
in English, for the whites' benefit.

"Matabi — again you interfered. You
know the penalty, of course."

Softly the native answered:

"Guard hit Mamale. No good. She
sick. Matabi no like. Hit guard."

"So," Homatuki said. "You struck
the guard?" He turned and looked at
one of the squat soldiers. Larry fol-
lowed his giance and saw where the blow
had landed — a purplish welt across one
cheek.

Natabi nodded.

Then Homatuki struck him. Savage-
ly he struck, using the riding crops butt
— lashing furiously at the native's face

— lashing until the blood came in
streaks.

And Matabi stood and took the blows.
Not even blinking his eyes as blow fol-
lowed blow.

T ARRY had seen many things. But
this was something he couldn't un-
derstand. Even as he acted, his sub-
conscious took note of several things:
the inhuman look of callous indifference
in the Jap's eyes; the soldiers, who had
suddenly brought their rifles to bear on
the natives; Matabi, who seemed to be
so indifferent to his beating. All this
Larry noticed, even as he twisted
Homatuki around.

"Wait!" he commanded.

The other looked at him questioning-
ly, then shook off Larry's hand as if the
touch contaminated him.

Larry shook with anger. Crane sens-
ing trouble was imminent moved up to
stand beside the stunt man.

"Damn it, man!" Larry rasped. "You
can't do that!"

"No?" Homatuki asked softly.

"No ! Not even if he is what you call
a slave. He's still a man. And besides,
maybe he is right. Maybe that guard
did "

"Upton ! " Homatuki said coldly. "It
is no concern of yours. Your status is
no different from his. It is only because
you are amusing to me that you and
your friend are not doing his work."

"Okay!" Larry's anger boiled over.
"So we're prisoners. But get this, you
egotistic goon—" He fell back sud-
denly, hand raised to cheek. Homatuki
had lashed him with the riding crop.

Larry went cold inside. He heard
an animal sound deep in Crane's throat
and knew what it meant. Crane had
taken all he could stand. And now he
was going to do something about it.
Quickly Larry grabbed at the hairy arm
of the cameraman and pulled him back.

162

AMAZING STORIES

"Nix, ape, I'll take care of this," he
said. His fingers felt gingerly of the
welt the whip had raised. Then, as he
let his hand drop, a broad smile ap-
peared on his face. Crane looked at
him in surprise. He couldn't see any-
thing funny. But for the first time since
he'd left Hollywood, Larry felt his old
self again.

"Well, soldier boy," he said lightly,
"what goes now?"

Homatuki's face became rigid in an-
ger. The sneer in the white man's voice
was too open to be ignored. He hissed
an order to the guards. Immediately
they stepped forward in threatening at-
titudes.

The Jap captain made a slight bow in
the direction of the white men and said
in a formal manner:

"This person deeply regrets the step
he must take. But, because, you have
violated our hospitality, your status of
guest has been changed — to that of pris-
oner."

CHAPTER IV

pMILY Hart leaned back in the rat-
tan chair and looked with unseeing
eyes at the ceiling. A very pretty and
very frightened native girl did ineffec-
tual things to the few pieces of furni-
ture in the small box-like room. A huge
tropic butterfly wheeled in stately flight
across the room and a two-inch beetle
scurried across the wall to find sanc-
tuary in a crevice.

Of these things the pretty red-haired
girl in the chair had no consciousness.
Colonel Toto had just left. And she
sat dreamy-eyed and speculated on the
fruits of his visit. It was not a bright
picture he had painted. She remembered
his exact words:

"So sorry, Miss Hart. Great incon-
venience. But this is military outpost.
No can leave. Please — you enjoy Japa-

nese hospitality."

"But Colonel Toto," she had pro-
tested, "my family, friends, the people
who backed my flight — what about
them?"

He had been adamant. "Sorry. Can
not release information of where-
abouts." His face expressed a sorrow
he didn't feel. "Will make visit pleas-
ant. See? Servant." He pointed to
the native girl, who cringed at his ges-
ture. "What you need will try to give."

She had thanked him and after assur-
ing him she would be glad to be his guest
for dinner, he left.

She was startled to feel a touch at her
hair. Jerking around in the chair, she
was surprised to see the native girl
standing behind her. Emily's sudden
movement frightened the girl. She stood
against the wall, her great brown eyes
asking forgiveness.

"Oh, come here, you poor kid," Emi-
ly said, holding both hands out to her.

The girl looked at the beckoning
hands but remained still. Then, when
she saw the warm smile on the white
woman's face, she ran to the sheltering
arms and snuggled close to Emily.

Emily stroked the trembling body for
a few seconds then led her to the bed
and made her sit down.

"You're afraid, aren't you?" she ask-
ed cupping the girl's chin in her palm
and forcing her to meet her eyes.

"No," the girl replied, "not — any —
more."

"Why — you speak English! Where
did you learn it?"

"Oh," said the girl, smiling now, "in
Salua. It's an island not far from here.
The missionaries taught us."

"White men?"

"Of course." The look of sadness
returned.

"What's wrong?"

"They are not there anymore. No
one is there."

TRUK ISLAND

163

"What do you mean?"

"Two years ago the Japanese came.
They killed the" — she gulped — "the
missionaries and all the men who re-
sisted. Then they put us all on ships
and brought us here."

"What for?"

The girl turned her head to look out
the open door and windows before an-
swering in a whisper:

"To work on the docks. And as ser-
vants. There were not enough people
here to do the work. How I hate them I"
she finished fiercely.

"I can understand," Emily said sym-
pathetically.

There was a sound at the door and
a low voice murmured something. Emily
turned and saw a native woman stand-
ing on the threshold.

"It's for me," the girl said. "The
colonel wants me."

"Oh. Then you'd better go. What is
your name?"

"Riva."

gMILY watched her depart with a
feeling of sorrow. The girl had
been the first person in the vicinity to
whom she had felt like talking, other
than Larry and Crane. And of those
two, she'd heard nothing in days. There
was something evasive in the way the
Japanese turned blank faces when she
asked about them. She looked at the
clean but barren room and for the first
time felt hope leave her. She remem-
bered the colonel's words again. And
how he had hoped she would think of
herself as his guest. Prisoner was what
he had meant.

A breeze, hot and fetid with the odor
of decaying jungle matter, came through
the windows. Had Larry seen her then,
he would not have believed that the girl
who had shown so much courage could
look so helpless. Her nose wrinkled
in disgust, a sob rose in her throat and

she threw herself across the bed and
burst into tears. Sleep came to her then,
after the tears were exhausted.

She awoke to the feeling of a gentle
stroking of her hair. It was Riva. A
pale moon showed her the native girl's
features. Riva, seeing Emily was
awake, lighted one of the two lamps.

"Hello, Riva," Emily said, arising
and running her Sngers through her
hair.

"Hello, Missy," the girl said shyly.
"Look what I have brought you."

Emily looked at the dress Riva held
thrown across her arm.

"For heavens sake!" she exclaimed.
Taking the dress from Riva, she held it
at arms' length and gave vent to screams
of laughter. Riva looked at her in
frightened surprise.

"Don't worry, darling, I'm all right.
In fact, I never felt better. Now tell
me, where did you get this?"

"From Colonel Toto," the girl an-
swered matter-of-factly. "For the din-
ner tonight."

"The dinner? Of course. I'd prom-
ised. Well, we'd better hurry, honey."
Then she laughed again. "Oh, that
dress! It's at least ten years behind
times. And must have been made to a
Geisha girl's taste."

An hour later Emily, radiant even
in the antique dress, appeared at the
colonel's private quarters. The half-
dozen officers in the room came to at-
tention as she walked at the colonel's
side. Captain Homatuki gave her a
smiling welcome. Deliberately she took
Toto's arm. Homatuki stopped smiling.

Emily's arrival was the signal for
dinner to begin. The Japanese were
noisy eaters. And their language held,
a monotony of tone that irritated the
senses.

"By the way, Colonel," Emily said,
breaking her silence, "what's new with
my friends?"

164

AMAZING STORIES

"Friends?" the Japanese asked po-
litely, his face becoming blank. "They
fine. Now on other side island."

She would have been satisfied with
that had she not caught the smirk on
Homatuki's face. His expression told
her everything was not as simple as
that. She knew now. The morning after
their arrival, Homatuki had taken them
for a car ride. He had returned alone.
Three days had gone by. Nor had
she even so much as heard about them
during those days.

If only she could find out about them.
She snapped mental fingers. Of course.
Rival She would know. But how to
get to her? Well, that was simple.
A headache. The woman's perogative
the world over.

'J"' HE colonel and his staff were deso-
late at her illness. And excused her
of course. The armed sentry, who had
escorted her to her cabin, had barely
marched away when Emily woke the
sleeping girl.

"Riva," she whispered, "listen! You
know the two white men — my friends?"

The girl nodded, wide-eyed.

"Do you know what happened to
them?"

"Missy didn't know?"

"Know what, Riva? Tell me!" So
excited did Emily become at the girl's
words that she shook Riva.

"They are prisoners on the other side
of compound. In the native quarters."

"Prisoners!"

"Yes, Missy. Homatuki " As

though the mention of his name had
invoked him, he was standing in the
doorway.

He stood there, silently taking in the
two women. Then smiling, he motioned
the girl out of the room. She scurried
through the door like a frightened
mouse.

Emily stood up and waited the cap-

tain's approach.

"So, Riva told you of your friends,"
he said. He took a lacquered cigarette
case from his pocket and, after select-
ing one, offered the case to Emily.
Shrugging his shoulders at her refusal,
he continued:

"But do not worry about them, Miss
Hart, they will be taken care of."

He smiled and came closer to her.
Close enough so that she could see the
moist glitter of his eyes. Homatuki was
drunk.

Carefully, so as not to arouse his
suspicion, she retreated from him.

"Does Colonel Toto know that you
■ " she began.

He snickered.

"Pah ! He's already so drunk he can't
see. Besides, he likes only native wom-
an. Now I am different. I like women
of spirit and fire— white women!"

She stopped as if transfixed by his
words. Then, before he was even aware
of her intention, she stepped forward
and struck him as hard as she could
with her clenched fist.

Spittle flew from his mouth, as his
head swiveled under the blow. But
there was no weight behind her blow.
Before she could take advantage, he
had recovered and was upon her.

Imprisoning one hand behind her
back, he pressed his face, oily with
sweat, against her own. She struggled
desperately, twisting in his grasp, trying
with her free hand to reach his face.

But it was of no avail. Slowly, he
forced her back. She heard the animal
sounds deep in his throat. The meaning
of those sounds made her redouble her
efforts. For a second her hand was
free and her nails bit deeply in the wet
skin.

"Bite — scratch — " he whispered
hoarsely. "That is what I— Ugh!" he
groaned suddenly and let go.

He had relaxed for a bare second and

TRUK ISLAND

165

in that second she brought up her knee
hard into his groin. Then, seeing him
doubled up in pain, she started past
him on a run for the door. And then
he had her by a wrist. Twisting her
savagely around, he sent her spinning
back. She fell to her knees and he was
upon her again.

The room whirled in a dizzying spin
and ... the voice of Larry Upton said:

"Well, if it isn't rat-face."

CHAPTER V

J^ARRY UPTON ran a sweaty fore-
arm across a sweatier brow. His
pick lay on the ground. Crane, stripped
to the waist, as was Larry, looked more
like an ape than ever with masses of
black hair on his 1 chest and belly. He
stood beside Larry in the shallow rock
quarry where they had been taken daily
during the three days since their im-
prisonment.

Homatuki had not minced words.

"You will work, as these brown skin-
ned slaves work, with pick and shovel —
under the sun, until your manners have
improved."

Both Larry and Crane had known
hard labor. But never anything like
this. They worked from sun-up to sun-
down, with perhaps a half-hour break
to eat the half-cooked gruel the Japa-
nese served for lunch. The. white rock
of the pit threw back the sun's rays-
rays that tortured the eyes and blistered
the body. Some fifty natives were their
companions. Matabi was one of them.

Larry heard one of the guards shout
something and knew it was time for
the serving of the horrible mess that
passed for food. Nodding his head for
Crane to join him, he made for the
shady side of the pit. Matabi followed
at a distance calculated not to arouse
any suspicion. They sat a few feet
apart and conversed, although none of

them looked at each other. To have
been caught talking with one another
would have brought punishment from
one or more guards. Larry had seen
one of the natives whipped into uncon-
sciousness and left lying in the sun the
day before. The man had died during
the night. And the reason for the beat-
ing: he had taken a moment's rest from
his labor.

■ Crane sat crossed-legged on the
ground and dipped stolidly into the
stew. Larry said:
"When, Matabi?"

The native lifted his head and glanced
at the guard, twenty feet away, and
answered swiftly:

"Tonight. Moon dies young. Be
ready."

Larry's pulses leaped at the answer.
He and Crane had been assigned to
one of the corrugated iron sheds that
served as labor barracks. It was hot
and filthy and crowded. Men slept on
the bare ground. Not even blankets
were furnished to them.

They had barely laid down to sleep
that first night, when Larry felt fingers
press across his lips. Words came out
of the darkness:

"No noise! Me Matabi. You save
Matabi today. Matabi help you —
friend "

"How?" Larry asked.

"Soon. Friends come. Take you to
Mouth of Gods." And with those words
Matabi was gone. But the next day and
night he had told more. Because of
Larry's action, Matabi considered him
a blood-brother and had sworn to help
him escape. Not from the island but
from the camp. He claimed to have a
place where he could hide him. And
now that night was here.

The day passed in measured slow-
ness. With the sun's descending, the
prisoners were marched back to their
prison huts.

166

AMAZING STORIES

"Well, ape," Larry said to Crane, as
they sat in the darkness, "this is it. Ma-
tabi said tonight."

"Yeah. I heard. But how? Jeez!
That fence has barbed wire."

"I don't know how. But we've got to
believe Matabi."

Larry kept looking through the open
door. A sentry paced back and forth
in the moonlight. Several hours passed.
Then Larry noticed the sentry's
shadow. It had grown perceptibly
longer. The moon was descending.

Suddenly Larry's eyes went wide.
The sentry had made a turn in the
shadow of a tree near the fence.
Turned and seemed to stop. Larry
squinted but it was too far to see ex-
actly what happened. But he would
have sworn that suddenly there was
someone beside the sentry there. Then
there was no one! Not even a shadow.
The moon had died. And so had the
sentry.

TV/TATABI slithered through the door-
way. Larry drew him close be-
side Crane and himself.

"They wait," Matabi whispered,
"near fence. Come." Then he pressed
something into Larry's palm. Crane
too received what had been given to
Larry, for his voice said:

"Jeez, what a sticker! Man, I only
hope I met one of the Nips."

Larry understood what he meant.
Matabi had given each a native knife.

"Come," Matabi said again, and was
gone through the door. Larry and
Crane followed. The natives silently
watched them leave.

They found Matabi at the fence. The
Jap guard lay in the contorted position
only death gives.

"Look!" Crane whispered hoarsely.
But Larry had already seen. A woven
grass mat had been thrown over the
murderous spikes of the wire. In a

few seconds they were over the barrier.

"Woman make," Matabi explained,
as they moved off. "Yellow dwarf men
think for house." He laughed softly, as
though pleased with his ingenuity.

"Wait!" Larry commanded sudden-
ly.

They paused and he went on:
"We've got to get Miss Hart."

"Yeah," Crane agreed. "Yeah. But
she's right in the camp. How we gonna
manage?"

"Matabi can do," was the surprising
answer. "Come." It seemed to be the
password, for he led them in a circuitous
path around tie camp and so to the
officers' area. He seemed to know ex-
actly where he was going, for in a few
minutes he stopped and said:

"There! White Missy's house. I
wait here."

Larry and Crane made their way
stealthily toward their goal. Lamplight
glowed from a window. She was in
there. Then Larry was through the
door and pulling Homatuki from
Emily.

The Jap twisted from his grasp and
drove stiffened fingers into Larry's
adam's apple. Larry gurgled and gasped
for breath, even as his reflex blow
caught the Jap on the side of the head.
Homatuki staggered. His black eyes
glittered evilly in the pale lamplight as
he recovered and came at Larry again.

Larry backed away from the Jap and
parried the pawing arms until his throat
loosened and breath flowed evenly once
more. And just in time; for Homatuki
had suddenly grasped one of Larry's
arms in both hands and twisting under
the extended arm, pivoted Larry
around with the intention of getting a
hammerlock. But Larry instead of
moving away from the grip pivoted in-
ward driving his free elbow into the
Jap's jaw. It almost knocked Homa-
tuki out.

TRUK ISLAND

167

Before the captain could recover,
Larry had driven home two pile-driver
blows to the saffron-colored face, split-
ting the broad nose. Homatuki's eyes
rolled in their sockets and he slumped
forward into Larry's arms. As Larry
automatically grasped the falling body,
Homatuki played his trump card. He
straightened up at the last instant and
kicked hard at Larry's knee cap. Luck-
ily for Larry the kick was low. Had
it landed, the knee cap would have
splintered. As it was, the kick sent
Larry sprawling. Homatuki jerked at
his bolstered pistol, got it out — and fell
flat on his face. The point of a native
knife protruding three inches from his
throat.

"One of my accomplishments," said
Crane in a complacent voice as he
walked over to the dead Jap. Turning
him over, he placed a foot on the bloody
face and pulled the knife free.

In the meantime Emily had run to
the prostrate Upton and helped him
rise. He flexed his aching leg and was
convinced no harm had been done.

"Okay, baby," he said taking her
arm. "No time to waste. We're leav-
ing."

He stopped only long enough to take
the dead Jap's pistol. Then they joined
Matabi. It was amazing, the ease
with which they made their escape.
One moment they were entirely sur-
rounded by danger; the next and they
were in the jungle brush.

A LL through the night they wormed
their way through the tangle of
creepers and growth which was their
path to safety. Dawn found them
three-quarters of the way up the side
of the mountain on which, Matabi in-
sisted, was the Mouth of the Gods.

They were in a narrow opening in
the dense brush when dawn finally
broke. Larry and Crane were red-

eyed from lack of sleep. A thousand
crawling things had found sanctuary
on their bodies. Leeches, thorns, in-
sects had all taken their toll. Emily's
clothing was reduced to little more than
remnants.

They lay panting in the sweating,
lush jungle and listened to Matabi.

"Soon dwarf men search. No find.
White men hide in Mouth of Gods.
No native go there. Taboo. Matabi
no 'fraid. Soon see."

And again the torturing crawling.
But not for long this time. Abruptly
they were in the clear. Two hundred
yards away, was the saw-toothed edge
of the mountain top. They looked
around with amazement. It was as
if some giant had taken a cleaver and
had made a line of demarcation: here
shall be jungle and here shall be bar-
ren ground.

"Cripes!" gasped Crane. "Do we
have to cross that?"

Larry couldn't blame Crane. He
had never seen such a stretch of God-
forsaken country in his life. Jumbled
masses of blackish lava outcroppings;
twisted stretches of barren rock and
narrow fissures through which thin
wreaths of yellowish odorous smoke
poured, made it the most frightening
kind of ground.

Matabi pointed upward again.

"See where Mouth is."

They looked and saw what he meant.
Near the very crest of the mountain, a
small overhang of rock gave an ap-
pearance of a human mouth. The lips
of the cavern looked startlingly human.
And the whitened rocks which lined
the cavern, top and bottom, resembled
teeth.

They looked at each other and then
looked away. It seemed so hopeless.
Even if they did find refuge within the
cave, the Japs would soon find them,
Larry grinned weakly and started to say

168

AMAZING STORIES

something. And noticed Matabi. The
native was in an attitude of watchful
attention. As though he was listen-
ing for something. Then Larry heard
it too. A sound from the brush behind
them. The Japs! They had lost no time
in taking up the chase.
"Go!" Matabi commanded. "Fast."

r J"'HE three whites needed no second
command. Slipping and scram-
bling, first one then the other helping
the girl, they started over the slippery,
needle-sharp lava. They had covered
almost a hundred yards when the Jap
patrol burst through the jungle wall.
There were a dozen men in the patrol.
The leader spotted them immediately.
And lost them. For the three had
found a shallow trench-like depression
which gave them protection against the
rifle fire the Japs let loose.

But Larry knew it was only a ques-
tion of time, and not very much of
that, before they would be in the open.
Then they would be at the mercy of
the Japs. Even as he pulled Homa-
tuki's pistol from the waistband of his
trousers, he ordered Emily and Crane:

"Don't stop till you get to the cave.
I'll cover."

Crane saw the necessity for Larry's
action. But Emily paused, her face
showing signs of hesitancy about leav-
ing. Pulling her after him, Crane
growled:

"Hot-shot's right ! He's got a heater.
Those Japs gotta come through here.
He can hold 'em off for a few minutes
anyway."

Although Larry's position had the
advantage of surprise, it also had a
weakness. He was as much in the open,
once the Japanese got into the gully,
as the Japs would be.

They piled into the gully at a run,
rifles ready for use. The two lead men
went down immediately, and the rest

retreated at the officer's command.

There was an interval of silence.
An interval in which Larry retreated
another fifteen yards. A hasty glance
over his shoulder showed Crane and
the girl to be almost at the cave. Then
there was the sound of rifles and rock
splinters whistled around him. From
the sounds, he knew they covered him
from both sides. It was only a ques-
tion of time now.

Quickly he arose and dashed to the
shelter of a slope. He would be hidden
there from one side of the attack. The
leaden messengers of death did their
utmost to reach him during his dash.
But either the Jap's aim was bad or
his own luck held.

His back pressed tight against the
smooth hard surface of the gully side.
He peered through narrowed eyes at the
top of the rise on the other side. A
head showed for a second and disap-
peared as dust blossomed around it.

"Duck," Larry whispered. He was
smiling now. A smile of pleasure. The
pistol in his hand barked loudly again.

Flame suddenly bit at his side and
made him grunt with pain. Twisting
about, he let loose a quick shot at the
Jap who was behind him. There was
a look of startled surprise in the yellow-
brown face as the slug bit into him, then
he toppled forward and rolled into the
gully.

There was the sound of voices —
Emily's and Crane's.
"Hey, Larry!"
. "Quick!"

He turned and ran in their direction,
even as the Japs debouched into the
open. He had the advantage in that
they couldn't fire as they came down
the sides. There was a slight rise
in the gully opening where Crane and
the girl stood. So it was that he failed
to see who stood a few feet behind
them, until he was almost at their side.

TRUK ISLAND

And then he couldn't believe his eyes.

He had time for only a quick glance,
then the stranger stepped forward in
front of Larry's friends. He raised
the odd-looking gun he carried and
leveled it at the howling Japs.

Larry heard no sound and saw no
flame or smoke come from the gun.
But from the look of confounded aston-
ishment, he knew something unpleasant
had happened to the Japs.

He came to a panting stop beside
his friends. Then he looked around
. . . felt his mouth go slack. It
couldn't be! There were no Japs be-
hind him. There was only the rock
strewn floor of the gully. Even the
bodies of the Japs he had slain were
no longer there.

As though the stranger knew the
questions which lay in Larry's mind
and did not want to answer them just
then, he turned and said laconically,
"Follow me."

Obediently they trudged after the
stranger who headed directly for the
cavern.

Crane shrugged thick shoulders as
Larry asked, "Who is he?" with his
eyes.

"Dunno," the cameraman said. "We
got here and he steps out. I saw he
was white. Couldn't figure out his
fancy clothes. But he looks at us for
a second and asks, "Kips?" I nod.
You know the rest."

Emily nodded her head in corrobo-
ration of Crane's account. Then they
were at the cavern mouth. Turning,
the stranger beckoned for them to
follow.

TT WAS cool inside. And not as dark
as they imagined. The stranger
seemed to know the place very well
for he walked unhesitatingly ahead.
They had gone forward for about a
hundred yards when he held up a hand

and said, "Hold."

They crowded close to him, in won-
der. He was standing on the brink of a
vast crevice. How deep it was Larry
and his friends couldn't judge. They
only saw that the grayish sides faded
into blackness after a few yards.

The stranger smiled pleasantly, said
"Follow me," and vanished over the
side. The three looked at each other
in bewilderment. Follow him—where?
Oddly enough, it was the girl who first
stepped to the edge and looked over.
The stranger's upturned face was half
a dozen feet below. Then she saw how
it was done.

A ladder had been hammered into the
rocks. Unhesitatingly, she too began
the descent, Larry and Crane followed
in turn. Larry counted a hundred and
ten rungs before they reached their
destination, a narrow ledge projecting
over the black void like a pouting lower
lip.

A small car stood at the edge. The
stranger opened the door set flush in its
side and motioned the three inside.
Crane and Emily sat in the rear two
seats, Larry at the stranger's side.

Their guide fiddled with several but-
tons on the dash and relaxed in the
seat. Nothing happened. That is.
nothing that Larry was conscious of.
Then he looked through the front win-
dow and whistled in surprise! There
had been no movement — no sound —
yet they were now falling into this pit.
He was quick to note that it was a
controlled fall, for the walls remained
equidistant from the vehicle.

"Don't be frightened," the stranger
said reassuringly. "This will be over
soon."

"Please," said Larry, speaking for
the other two. "What's all this about?
Who, are you? And where are we

going?"

"My name is Burton. And we are

170

AMAZING STORIES

going to Lemuris," the other replied.

"Never heard of it," came Crane's
voice. "You look more like Holly-
wood to me. . . . Say!" A thought
had struck Crane. "That's it— Holly-
wood. Sure! That's why you got
those fancy clothes. Flash Gordon
serials or somethin'. . . . Naw," Crane
concluded sadly, "I'm nuts. What'd
they want to come out here on location
for?"

"Really," Burton said, "It's not so
mysterious. But explanations can wait
until we arrive."

There had been blackness. And now
there was light. Dazzling light. The
interior of their strange air-car was
mellow with it. Larry noticed that
the windows were of some kind of
glass that diffused the sun's rays.

"Holy smoke!" Crane suddenly bel-
lowed. "Look — out there!"

Larry followed the pointing hand and
understood Crane's exclamation.
Other things became clear also. Where
they were, for instance. The one
glance he had of this strange world
told him they were inside the earth.

For he saw the land masses below
stretch upward in concave manner, as
if they were looking down into some
vast bowl.

'Y'HEIR little car had shot out sev-
eral miles up above the mountain
range which held their exit. Now their
pilot pressed several buttons and the
car nosed downward until it was
within a few hundred feet of the high-
est peak. It leveled off then and flew
straight ahead. Although Larry saw
there was a steering apparatus, a cres-
cent-shaped affair, Burton didn't touch
it.

"Automatic control," he explained
seeing the look of interest in Larry's
eyes. "We are beamed for Lemuris
now. We should be there in an hour."

"Should?" Larry asked, noting Bur-
ton had placed an accent on the word.

"Unless we're spotted by Kip patrol
planes," their guide explained.

Larry decided to hold his peace until
they arrived at their destination. He
knew that there all their questions
would be answered.

The land below looked very much
like that which they knew. The moun-
tains had given way to low foothills.
The air-car followed the configuration
of the topography. Now they were fly-
ing over a broad tree-carpeted valley.
A river wound its way through the tree-
studded plain.

Suddenly they were out over a vast
body of water.

"The Pacific," Burton said. But he
didn't look at them when he spoke.
His eyes peered watchfully ahead.
"Danger zone," he continued. "Past
this, we are safe."

"Pacific Ocean; Kips — could be
Nips; wingless and propellerless
planes; a pilot who looks like some-
thing out of Buck Rogers and who
speaks English like a Harvard man,"
mused Larry. "H'm. And we started
out on a round-the-world flight. Didn't
think we'd wind up flying around in-
side the world."

He had no doubt that what he saw
below was the inside of the world. And
that sun hanging in the center of this
globe was just a huge blazing mass of
gases. The same gases no doubt from
which the rest of the planet came.

The pilot released a sigh and the
tenseness left his face.

"We're all right now," he said. "See."
He pointed to a dozen specks converg-
ing on them. "Ours."

Burton's one-word announcements
only whetted their appetite for the so-
lution to all this.

"Oh, man," Crane called, admiration
deep in his voice, "look at those ba-

TRUK ISLAND

171

bies! Hardly call them planes."

Larry had never seen such planes be-
fore. They looked like gigantic rain
drops. Each plane contained a single
man.

"Our fighters," Burton proudly an-
nounced.

"Fighters? But where are their
guns?" Larry asked.

"Behind their ports. Watch!" he
commanded.

The tiny projectile-like planes were
in V formation heading nose-on for
them. Suddenly the two lead ships
parted and sweeping past them, each
plane suddenly reversed its direction
and flew parallel to them. The rest
followed the leader's maneuver.

For the next hour the tiny fighters
acted as convoys. Then, as abruptly
as they arrived, they left. Larry blinked
his eyes at the amazing speed of their
departure.

"We are approaching Lemuris," Bur-
ton explained. "You can see the shore
line out there."

""JpHEY had been flying above the
Pacific. Now Larry saw Lemuris,
their goal. Towering spires reached
slender fingers skyward. It was like
New York, only a dozen times larger.
He could see the spider web forms of
great arches connecting the buildings.

Once over the city, Burton let the
car settle until it hung suspended over
a wide roadway. His passengers saw
hundreds of cars such as theirs, travel-
ing on the massive suspension bridge.
Then they too were on it.

Now Burton used his steering ap-
paratus. They traveled at break-neck
speed toward one of the towering struc-
tures. He turned off onto a narrow
roadway that skirted the building and
pulled up before a wide door guarded
by two soldiers armed with the same
sort of gun he had used on the Japs.

They came to smart attention, when
he stepped from the car and shepherded
Larry, Crane and the girl through the
doors.

Wide-eyed, they followed him. Never
had they seen such immensity in any
structure. Three Empire State build-
ings could have been put into it. Then
Burton held a plain wooden door wide
and was saying:

"Come in, please."

It was a simply furnished room into
which they had been ushered. Facing
them was a wide, massive desk.

Behind it sat a slender-bodied man
dressed in something that resembled the
togas of the ancient Romans. The
predominant expressions in the man's
face was a kindliness and graciousness
which the onlooker felt as though it
were a physical force. Then they came 1
closer, within range of his eyes.

Never before had they seen a pair
of eyes which held so much wisdom
and goodness. They felt as though they
were in the presence of a god. And the
natural feeling of embarrassment they
might have had at the ragged appear-
ance they presented, did not mature.

He spoke, and they were as children,
listening to the wisdom of an old, loved
teacher.

"My son has told me of your mis-
fortune." He lifted a hand yellow and
fragile as old ivory in a gesture, stop-
ping the question on Larry's lips. "And
I beg of you to worry no longer. You
are with friends."

He did not single any of them out
with his glance, but those kindly old
eyes missed nothing.

"Your wound will have immediate
attention," he told Larry.

"Oh, it's nothing, sir," Larry po-
tested. "Just a scratch."

Emily looked at the long bloody welt
and involuntarily shuddered.

"Nevertheless," the old man contin-

172

AMAZING STORIES

ued, "it must have treatment. Quarters
will be provided for your stay. Every-
thing will be done to ensure a safe
return to your outer world."

"Outer world," Emily faltered over
the words.

"Yes, my child. I regret I do not have
the time to go into details : that Burton
will do. But when the time comes, you
will be returned. And now, if you will
excuse me?"

The interview was at an end. And,
insofar as they were concerned, they
were back where they started — in cus-
tody.

CHAPTER VI

T5URTON became their constant
companion: a condition Emily
Hart seemed to enjoy. Larry couldn't
blame her. Burton, by any standard,
was a magnificent person.

His was a magnetic personality, as
yell as a physical attractiveness that
was the envy of many a Lemurian. Fur-
ther, the admiration was mutual. Larry
felt unaccountable twinges of jealousy
in the attention Burton paid the girl.
He was unaware of the sidelong looks
she gave him, when she saw the fur-
rows gather in his forehead. At such
times, she was doubly sweet to Burton.

The three Americans were Burton's
guests. From the respect accorded
Burton wherever they went, the two
Earthmen realized he was a person of
importance in this world.

When Larry's wound was taken care
of, and the visitors had been clothed in
the kind of garments worn in Lemuris,
Larry could contain himself no longer.

"Burton," he said "tell us what all
this is about. Who are you people?
Where are we? This man you call the
Master . . . how did he know of our
arrival on Truk? I don't know about
Crane and Miss Hart; but me— I'm

batty from all this."

"Yes," Emily interposed. "How is
it you speak English? And how "

"Please 1" Burton smiled. "One at a
time. First, compose yourselves. . ."

He followed his own advice and sat
back, relaxed, in his chair. His fingers
formed a steeple. His features mir-
rored his sober mood.

"First," he began, "about us. All
this vast city — Lemuris — was once on
the outer world. Yes," he continued,
seeing the shocked expressions on their
faces, "we were once a proud and
mighty people living on a vast conti-
nent above. How long no one knows
But we do know that the earth above
was still in a highly formative state.
Vast, natural changes were constantly
taking place. I won't go into that ex-
cept to say that our continent sank into
the earth. Sank for a distance of eighty
miles. How it was that all who lived
on Lemuris did not die, no one knows.
But the Providence who "

"I notice," Emily interrupted, "that
you and others whom we've met believe
in a God of some sort."

"And why not?" Burton asked.
"Anyhow, they lived. The vast chasm,
or fissure, closed behind them. And
they found this strange new world. It
was fortunate, indeed, that the men who
ruled were wise men. They did not
give way to despair or idle specula-
tion."

He took a deep breath. Larry sighed
and was unconscious of it. Crane had
the look of a rapt child on his face.

"No," continued Burton, "they saw
that the people became busy again at
those tasks that had been theirs in the
old world. Progress and enlightment
came apace. Science thrived and we
were happy people."

They all noticed that he had said
were.

"So you see us at the height of our

TRUK ISLAND

173

civilization." There was a slightly
drawn look to his features, as if he
were troubled by something. "And now
to answer your questions briefly. I
speak English because it is the univer-
sal language. Why it occasions such
surprise from you, I don't understand.
If you will think of how it happens that
you speak English you will understand
how I do. The Master knew of your
arrival because I had told him."

"You told him? When?" Larry de-
manded.

"In the auto-plane," Burton an-
swered simply.

Then Larry remembered. During the
trip, Burton had placed what looked
like a radio operator's headpiece on his
head. But there had been no mouth-
piece attached to it.

"I remember now. But how did you
tell him. There was no "

"I thought out the message," was the
startling reply.

"Oh."

Emily then asked the question they
wanted most to have answered.

"How long do we stay here? And
how do we get back to the earth? I
hope there is another exit."

"There was another exit. But it no
longer exists. A vast ocean flows over
it. How long you will remain is prob-
lematical. You see" — he hesitated
as if he disliked telling them this — "we
are in a state of war."

"War?" burst simultaneously from
three throats.

"Yes," Burton answered sadly. "Sur-
prising, isn't it. And almost unbeliev-
able too, when you see how peaceful
Lemuris seems. How people go about
their daily occupations as if bloodshed,
terror and death never existed."

TT WAS true. They had been taken
on a tour of Lemuris. And, just as
Burton had said, they would never have

known from the reactions of the popu-
lace, that a war was being fought.

"Hey, look, pal," Crane broke in.
"We gotta get outa herel 4Ve just
gotta!"

Burton's eyebrows went up.

"Sure!" continued Crane. "Those
yella devils are plannin' ta bomb Pearl
Harbor. And we gotta tip off Wash-
ington."

Larry had almost forgotten what Ho-
matuki had shown them. But Crane
hadn't. Now Larry, too, raised his
voice in demand.

"Crane's right, Burton. Germany,
one of the earth nations, has declared
war on — well — on the rest of the world.
Men like Crane and myself are going
to be needed."

"Why?" Burton asked.

Larry was taken aback.

"What's the difference why?" he
snapped in reply.

"Because we may be able to use you
and Crane. And perhaps Miss Hart
also."

"Well, so can our country. We'll
probably be in it before long. And I
guess a pilot like myself and a camera-
man like Crane will find a place."

Burton stood up.

"Very well, if that is your wish, Up-
ton. I will return you and your party
to where I found you," he said.

"Why, you can't do that," Crane ob-
jected. "That ain't gonna "

"Oh, be still. Both of you!" Emily
put in. "You're both silly. What good
will it do us to return to Truk? Burton
is right. Let's hear him out."

"Thank you, Miss Hart. And now,
gentlemen, let me give you a little of
our history. So that you will have an
understanding of why we are at war.

"As I said before, the fathers of our
civilization were very wise men. They
realized from the very beginning that
all wars are destructive, retard progress,

174

set back the tide of civilization. And
so they outlawed war. Peace reigned,
nations prospered. Man knew only the
brotherhood of equality.

"But on the far side of the Pacific
a race of yellow-skinned dwarf men
established a nation. They were the
men of Kipangoo. They too were ad-
mitted into our Federation of States.
And they too were given the benefits of
our science and progress. Then, in a
matter of what in your time would be
a year ago, they struck us a treacherous
blow.

"Far out in the Pacific Ocean there
is an island administered over by Le-
muris. A year ago the Kipangoos trea-
cherously bombed and invaded this is-
land. It was the first step in their
avowed purpose of conquering all Le-
muris.

"We were unprepared, almost pow-
erless in the face of such well-planned
treachery. For it had developed, as we
found later, that the Kipangoos had
been preparing for years for that mo-
ment."

"Holy smokes!" Again it was
Crane. "That's just like the Nips and
us. That's what they wanna do to us!"

"Wait a minute," Larry interjected.
"Kips . . . That's what you called them,
isn't it?"

Burton nodded.

"I begin to see the connection. Our
Japanese and those Kipangoo's are re-
lated, right?" Larry asked thought-
fully.

"Right," came the answer. "Those
Japanese, as you call them, are the
remnants of what was left of the Kipan-
goos."

"Some remnants. Eighty millions of
them."

Burton showed surprise at the
figure.

"Anyway," Larry suggested, "let's
get back to your troubles."

"Yes. As I said before, we were un-
prepared. And if it had not been for
the Master, all would have been lost."

"Say! That reminds me. Who is the
Master? And why do you call him
that?" Larry asked.

"Briefly," Burton explained in his
somewhat didactic manner, "the Master
is the guardian of the Lemurians. It
is an office to which he was elected and
has held for forty years."

"Boy!" Crane ejaculated. "If Roose-
velt hears about this!"

"Never mind the ape," Larry said
noticing the puzzled look on Burton's
face. "Go ahead."

"It was he who foresaw all this.
And warned it would happen. But be-
cause of the Council of One Hundred,
the representatives of the people, his
warnings went unheeded. They could
not understand. Nor can I, even now,
blame them. Peace was in our hearts.
Contentment in our minds.

"But the Master! Ah! He knew it
would happen. Secretly he called to-
gether several of our scientists and pre-
pared a plan of factory conversion
which could be put to immediate effect.
Some of the scientists were put at re-
search into fields of armaments and
chemistry.

"So that it was truly a short time
after their attack that "

r JpHERE was an interruption then.

An armed soldier appeared and
whispered something to Burton. He
arose and said:

"Excuse me, please. Something has
come up and the Master has summoned
me. Please make yourselves at ease
until my return."
Emily said:

"What do you think, Larry?"

"Frankly, I'm all up in the air. I
mean this sudden change in scenery
and script, if you get what I mean?"

TRUK ISLAND

175

Crane laughed uproariously.
"Say!" he explained, "I'll bet
Flynn'd give a million bucks to film

this."

"Seriously, though," Emily asked
again, "what do you think?"

"Think?" repeated Larry. "That's a
silly question. What's there to think
about? We're stuck here. And there's
nothing we can do about it. And to tell
you the truth, I don't mind that one
bit."

"How come?"

"Well, for example, did you notice
these buildings?"

"Yes, of course I did," she answered
somewhat bitingly. "They do sort of
hit you in the eye."

"Now isn't that just like a woman?"
Larry asked of no one in particular.
"Ask a civil question and get some
smart remark like that for an answer."

"Aw, come on, hot-shot," Crane said
sourly. "Never mind that stuff.
What're you drivin' at?"

"Look, ape," Larry's temper flared,

"I can take that talk from her. But
»

"Off again," the girl said wearily.

That took the edge off. Larry and
Crane mumbled apologies and Larry
continued.

"All right. The buildings. Looks
like they're made of solid concrete.
But do you know what that stuff is?
Plastics! They call it synthetics, but
what's the difference? And look at this
room. No windows. Yet the air in
here is clean and fresh as outdoors.
And the room temperature— perfect."

"So okay, chum. But what're you
drivin' at?" Crane had a one-track
mind.

"Just this. These people have built
the kind of life we would like to have.
And I, for one, am going to do my bit
to help them. Although I can't figure
out how."

"You know, hot-shot, them's my
sentiments too. I'm with you on that."

"And you can count me in too," the
girl said.

gURTON returned just then, to
bring their talk to a temporary
halt. One look at his tight-lipped mouth
and troubled eyes and they knew some-
thing was wrong. There was.

"Bad news," Burton announced.
"The Kips have broken through our
outer line of defense!"

"Yes? Just what does that mean?"
Larry was again the spokesman.

"Why, I don't know, yet. But it
could be serious."

"Um h'm. I suppose your army has
several lines of defense, though."

"Army? We have no army."

"No army! What the hell kind of a
war is this you're fighting?"

"I'd better explain, Upton. I see you
don't understand. There is no need
of armies; they'd be of no avail. You
see, most of Lemuris is uninhabited.
Deep jungle swamps, great areas of
desert and greater areas of still-melt-
ing rock."

The three stood open-mouthed, un-
comprehending. No army, no battle-
fields. Then how was this war fought?

"Furthermore," Burton continued,
"to maintain an army, we would have
to notify the public that we are at
war! And, of course, we can't do that."

Larry was stunned. Here was a
country fighting for its existence and
the people didn't know about it.

"Wait a minute," he said slowly.
"I thought you said the country was at
war?"

"I did. But not the people in it."

"Then who's doing the defending?"

"A group of highly trained men."

"I see. Swell! A group. Probably
fifty guys or so. And the people, the
dopes, don't know anything about

176

AMAZING STORIES

what's going on."

Burton flushed at the savage tone of
Larry's condemnation.

"Can't you see?" he defended his
position. "We can't tell them."

"No? Why?"

"They've never known any other
condition but peace."

"Nuts!" Larry cut in. "Did you
ever ask yourselves why you're fight-
ing? For what? You remind me of
some of the fatheads back home."

"Well spoken, my friend," a voice
said.

They turned. The man called the
Master had entered the room. He
joined them and continued:

"Give us your idea, my friend. Per-
haps it will solve our problem."

"Well — " Larry hesitated, now that
the turn of the card was up to him.
"Suppose you give me an idea of the
lay of the land."

Burton looked puzzled, but the old
man understood.

"Very well. The land lies thusly.
Two million Kipangoos have elected to
make war against the remaining twelve
million people of our Federation. Of
our number, six million live here in
Lemuris.

"Defending Lemuris is the group
Burton mentioned, forty thousand men,
trained specialists all. Opposing is a
probable half-million men, almost the
entire male population of Kipangoo."

"Nice odds," Larry commented.

"Not too great," said the Master
surprisingly. "You see, they have
never made any contributions to our
sciences. Always the imitators, they
have copied our weapons. But because
of the sheer weight — "

"Excuse me, sir." Larry's tone was
deferential. "You've forgotten one
thing: the human element. Their entire
nation is out to win. And that, sir,
means everything."

'JpHE kindly eyes of the old man
flashed a speculative look at Larry,
as though his words had struck a re-
sponsive chord.

"And what would you do?"

"Let the people know! Tell them!
Why, how, and what they may have to
face. And I'll bet if they've got any-
thing on the ball, this war'll be over in
a hurry."

"Perhaps you are right. At any rate
I am going to do just that. Tell the
people. It will, of course, come as a
shock. But I think I can vouch for
the response. Are there any other ques-
tions, my son?"

"No sir. If there are, Burton can
answer them."

"Very well. And by the way — — "

"Yes sir?"

"—Burton is my chief assistant. Do
not underestimate his ability."

Burton flushed at the unexpected
commendation. Larry was somewhat
startled. Burton didn't have the quali-
ties which would make for a capable
second in command. But Burton's next
words bore out a little of what the old
man had meant.

"Well, Upton, that solves that prob-
lem. Now I'll give you a rough idea
of the situation. Since warfare here is
not fought on the ground, it is perhaps
different from what you may know
of."

"Sure it is. Just how are the battles
fought?"

"They're not. That is, strictly speak-
ing. Completely encircling Lemuris, at
heights varying from four thousand to
forty thousand feet, are stationary bas-
tions, anchored in the sky. Their
groupings depend upon the area of de-
fense. So that close to Lemuris, they
form a rather heavy screen."

"Whoa, brother, slow up a little.
What sort of things are these bastions?
What are they made of?"

TRUK ISLAND

177

Burton laughed in apology.

"Sorry. Well, let me See. . . . You
recall the air car We took from the outer
earth?"

"Yes."

"Well, those bastions are tremen-
dous air cars, held immobile at those
levels. They have terrific fire power.
And a single man can operate one of
them."

They were impressed by the picture
Burton had drawn.

"How come they flopped then?"
Crane asked.

Burton's shrug was eloquent.

"The Kipangoo's delegated squad-
rons of their air fighters to commit sui-
cide by driving their fighters directly
into the fortresses. You see, a fighter
car is very small and although the forts
shot down several hundred, enough got
through to accomplish what they had
set out to do."

"Look like these Kips and our Japs
have the same idea," Emily said.

They looked curiously at her.

"Remember what Homatuki said
that night at dinner? 'Men and mate-
rial are expendable.' " she explained.

"You're right! And they'll keep
plugging away until they wear 'em
down. Look, Burton, I have an idea.
Want to hear it?"

"Go ahead."

"On one of our tours through Lemu-
ris, I saw men building those air cars.
And I noticed— man, if Henry Ford
ever finds out about this— that it's all
done in a single operation."

"Yes?"

"Why not make big ones. Like those
stationary forts. And fill 'em with
troops. And invade Kipangoot I'll bet
those guys are like the Japs. Pattern
thinkers! Formula followers! Give
them the unexpected and they're sunk.
Their plan is based on one idea: that
you people will never take the offen-

sive. And that's where you fool 'em!"

"Jeez!" Crane burst out. "You're a
genius, hot-shot! That's usin' the old
bean."

Even Burton seemed excited by the
idea. Then the girl threw a verbal mon-
key wrench into their plans.

"It's a swell idea. But where are
you going to get the men? Burton said
a while ago that there were only forty
thousand in that group."

"Do you know how long it took to
train those men, Miss Hart? Three
weeks! It won't take any longer to
train half a million. Upton, I want to
thank you for that brilliant thought!"

CHAPTER VII

^jpHE next three weeks were the busi-
est the Americans had ever known.
The people's reaction to their Guard-
ian's announcement that their country
was at war, was a spontaneous and
whole-hearted demand for active par-
ticipation against the enemy. Burton's
call for volunteers was more than an-
swered. According to the strategy de-
vised by the Lemurian, no more than
two hundred thousand men would be
needed for the expedition. A million
volunteered.

It was truly amazing, the speed and
thoroughness of their training. In a
matter of weeks they were ready. As
were the huge carriers for this supreme
adventure.

It was a period of training and in-
struction for the three from the outer
world also. Strangely, in some things
it was Crane who showed the greatest
adaptability. Perhaps it was the years
he had spent with cameras. Whatever
it was, he committed the most complex
topographical maps to memory. Even
Burton marveled at the ease of his ac-
complishment.

Because Larry and Emily had to

178

AMAZING STORIES

learn how to fly the air cars, they were
thrown together a great deal. They dis-
covered mutual tastes. And discovered,
too, certain traits they hadn't noticed
before.

"You know, glamour-boy," she said
one day, "I didn't know there was a
brain behind that beautiful face of
yours."

He was at the controls of the car.
He grinned at her words and replied:
"What is this — a build-up for a let-
down?"

"No," she returned seriously, "I
guess I've done you wrong. You're a
pretty regular guy, Larry. And I ad-
mire you for what you're doing here."

"Aw shucks." He started to kid her.
Then, seeing that she was serious, he
became serious also. "Look baby, I'm
no talker. Never was. And I don't go
in for the spotlight glow. What I told
that wonderful old man they call the
Master, came from the heart. I'd feel
that way if something like that hap-
pened back there where we came from.
And some day it may. We just can't
sit back and take it. We've got to dish
it out too. And let me tell you some-
thing else — hey! What was that for?"

He looked at her, wide eyed. In the
midst of their talk, she had suddenly
reached over and kissed him.

"Why — why — well, can't a girl feel
like kissing a man?" she answered.

"Honey," he said smiling, "that's one
investment that's going to bring a re-
turn with interest."

The car did several things not in the
book, as his hands left the controls to
take her in their grip. Their new-found
emotion was bright in their faces when
they landed. Crane took one look and
broke into a joyous shout:

"Well, damn me! They're in love."

^pHERE was little time, they soon
discovered, to capitalize on their

love. Few opportunities presented
themselves for their indulgence. Larry
discovered that Burton had important
tasks in mind for him. How important
he didn't know until he was unexpect-
edly summoned to the Master's office.

Two others were there, besides the
old man — Burton and a man named
Farnsworth.

"Well, Upton. This is it. The mo-
ment we've worked toward all this
time," Burton announced.

Larry's pulses leaped.

"Yes," the Master said in his gentle
voice, "the time has come to join battle
with the enemy. We are in the right
and Providence is on our side. I have
complete faith in our eventual vic-
tory."

It was like a benediction.

Then Burton told of the plan he had
conceived. Larry's respect for the man
went up several notches. As Burton
planned it, there would be a three-
pronged assault on the citadel of Ki-
pangoo.

All the while he spoke, he used a
blunt-tipped finger as a pointer on the
large map spread across one wall of the
room.

"Here" — he pointed to a green area
— "is Kipangoo. As you see, it is a
semi-mountainous country. Now, I, us-
ing the main force of one hundred
transports and one thousand fighting
craft, will attack here." He pointed to
a spot on the map. Larry looked closely
and saw it was on a broad slope that
extended in a gradual grade to the
tableland of Kipangoo.

"We will have the tactical advantage
of surprise," Burton went on. "At best,
a slight advantage, for their patrol cars
will spot us. But our fighters should
cover our advance. It will only be
the natural thing for them to assume
that this will be the main and only
attack.

TRUK ISLAND

179

"There is where we truly will surprise
them. For you, Farnsworth, and you,
Upton, will then follow through with
our plan.

"Here, you see" — the finger pointed a
light blue area below the brown rep-
resenting Kipangoo — "how the battle
should be joined. The Pacific is one
boundary; and on two sides, Kipangoo
is supposedly immune from attack be-
cause of the mountains and jungle.
Only where our main forces land, is the
land favorable to us. But"— he paused
dramatically — "we must assume that
they have taken our move into account
and have prepared for it."

"Yeah?" Larry interrupted. "How
do you figure that ? I thought, to quote
you, that there wouldn't be any land
battles."

"If I did, I didn't mean quite that,"
Burton explained. "We must take under
consideration that they have foreseen
a possible invasion and prepared for it.
But only on that side. They know they
are quite safe from the seaward side.
Then here is what we expect. Their
forces engage ours. Reinforcements
will come to the defenders' aid. As the
tempo of the battle mounts, and more
and more reserves will be thrown into
the attack, until the city will have a
minimum of defense. Then yom forces
will strike . . . from the air!"

Larry grinned exultantly. What a
battle that was going to be! Farns-
worth coming in on one flank, he, on
the other. And all with air-borne
troops. An invasion from the sky, liter-
ally. And the men in his command were
ready and anxious for it to begin.

Burton turned away from the map.

"Farnsworth, you know where and
how to proceed. Upton, I have already
given Crane, who is to act as guide, his
instructions. Now gentlemen, you will
proceed to your stations and await
flying orders. The next time I expect

to. see you will be in the council cham-
bers of the city of Kipangoo. Good
luck and good hunting."

CHAPTER VIII

y ARRY looked out through the con-
trol room window. The green
undulations of land, five hundred feet
below was forest — thick, impenetrable.
Crane leaned across a desk, intent on
several maps. His homely face was
screwed up in abstract concentration.
He was carrying an unexpected burden
of responsibility. The entire success or
failure if the initial phase of the opera-
tion depended on him. For it was he
who had to recognize, from the air, that
small strip of ground which would be
their landing field.

His brow was furrowed and when he
turned away from the desk and joined
Larry at the window, it was as if Larry
were not as his side. He began to talk,
half to himself and half to Larry:

"Funny thing, hot-shot. Back there"
■ — it was a favorite phrase of his, mean-
ing the outer earth — "if something like
this'd happen . . . well, it'd be different.
You know what I mean? Gettin' up in
the cold dawn, planes warmin' up, big
things in the air. But this — aarh! No
dawn, just that sun blazin' up there.
No clouds, no night and day. Looks
like time stands still out here. Time
and people." He sighed and Larry
looked at him in surprise. It had never
occurred to him that Crane was
capable of thought. Or that that gorilla
shape could hold emotions other than
anger and hunger.

"Look! There's ten thousand of us
goin' out. I'm not kidding myself. It's
kill or be killed. An' I'm a little scared.
But these guys. Hell! They act like
they're goin' to a movie."

"Wait, pal," Larry broke in. His
hand reached up and gripped Crane's

130

AMAZING STORIES

shoulder in friendship. "I think they
know what's ahead. Maybe it's their
way of showing courage."

"Nah! I know different! You see,
while you were busy with Burton, I
spent a lot of time with these people.
And I wanna tell you somethin'. At
first, I thought this was heaven. I
don't know whether you know it or not
but nobody works in Lemuris. Nobody
worries about time or money or the
thousand and one things we do. Sounds
wonderful, don't it?"

"Go on, Philosopher Crane," Larry
urged, interested in spite of himself.

"Well," Crane continued, "maybe
I'm old-fashioned. I like to know what
I got. Now these guys, they're going
out ta licks the Kips. Swell! So they
do. And what do they came back to?
A newer, brighter world? Nope. Every-
thing's just dandy in his perfect place.
Nobody has to git up and git. It's al-
ready got."

"What are you trying to tell me?
War is wonderful? And necessary?"

"Naw! You got me wrong. I'm
only tryin' to say war don't mean to
them what it'd mean to us."

"And I think you're wrong. War
means the same to every "

"Excuse me, sir." It was the pilot.

"Yes?"

"Objective reached, sir."

Crane peered from the window. The
pilot was right. There, a few hundred
feet below, was the bald spot in the
green forest that was to be their land-
ing field. He knew that it was a large
enough area to accommodate the ten
transports which comprised their forces.
Quickly, before Larry gave the order to
land, he brought the entire area into
his mind and formed a picture which
was whole and complete.

The huge transports landed like, gi-
gantic, graceful birds, lightly and si-
lently. The landing ramps were low-

ered and in a matter of minutes two
thousand men lined up for their last
inspection. Group commanders busied
themselves seeing to it that equipment
was ready. Then, at a given order
from Larry, they marched off. Only
sappers remained.

The last man disappeared into the
jungle. Suddenly there were the earth-
shaking sounds of five great explosions.
The sappers' work was done. Nothing
but dust remained of the transports.
There was to be no turning back for
Larry and his men.

JJP AHEAD, through brush thicker
than anything Larry had ever im-
agined, picked squads of men hacked
a way for the rest. One trail for each
column, until they reached the precipi-
tate side of their final objectives.

The men were attired alike. Close-
fitting shirts and breeches made of a
tough, resilient material, gave them pro-
tection against thorns and roots.
Strangely, the jungle was free of all
life, insect or animal. But the heat was
intense. Yet despite the heat they were
comparatively cool.

"The cloth: they treat it some way,"
Crane explained, as he trudged at Lar-
ry's side.

Larry was more and more surprised
by the wealth of information Crane had
acquired. And once, when Larry men-
tioned the emptiness of the jungle,
Crane again supplied the answer.

"That was the guy they called the
Master. Long ago, he had a little war
of his own against bugs and snakes and
things. He won that one. That's why
there ain't none, thank God!"

Odd bits of information. For exam-
ple, the rifles they carried. Crane told
Larry how they came to be:

"Only kind of guns they had were
like the Kips got. Regular rifles, shoot-
in' bullets, like we got back there. But

TRUK ISLAND

181

the Master — " Larry became con-
scious of the note of awe in Crane's
voice and remembered now that it was
always present when Crane spoke of
the old man — "what a genius 1 He saw
that we'd need somethin' different. So
he has some of the smart brains think
up these heaters. Remember what hap-
pened to those Jap-rats back on Truk?"

"Will I ever forget! But why are
they called anti-personnel weapons?"

"Don't work on metal or plastics or
stone. Just flesh. Some kind of energy.
Guys just turn to dust. Poof — gone!"

How long it took to get through the
jungle was always a mystery to them.
Three times they slept. It was the only
means they had of telling time. Larry's
wrist watch had corroded from salt wa-
ter. He wore it only as an ornament. A
sort of reminder that there was in exist-
ence a world to which he hopped to
return some day.

They had been clean, almost dapper-
looking, when they had first landed.
Now, as the men assembled in wearied
groups, there was a vast difference in
their appearance. The jungle had been
conquered. Only the precipice re-
mained.

This time Larry made a personal in-
spection tour of the men before giving
the order for the final assault. He
looked no different than the lowliest
volunteer. Dirty, bedraggled and red-
eyed he paced past the long lines of
men. His lower face was hidden by a
tangled growth of beard.

Before them stretched the almost
perpendicular reaches of the mountain.
Thick slivers of granite, hundreds of
feet high, studded the cliff-like face,
making their climb even more haz-
ardous.

Satisfied at last, Larry faced his men
and gave the command:

"Climb-leaders, step forward!"

A hundred men stepped out of the

close-grouped ranks. Fifty-foot lengths
of rope were coiled about their chests.
Curiously shaped grappling irons hung
suspended from the waist-bands of
their trousers. These were the men
whose duty it was to ascend first, find-
ing the foot- and hand-holds, securing
the irons and letting out the rope to
be used as ladders. They were specially
chosen for this, the most dangerous,
part of the mission.

"All right, men," Larry announced
in a ringing, confident voice, "there it
is. We're depending on you to get us
over. Let's go!"

There were no cheers. No chins were
thrust forward in determination. Just
a calm acceptance of danger. And a
sober willingness to face it.

At a hundred different points, they
started to climb. There was never less
than ten feet between each leader.
They were like a thousand flies, creep-
ing over rock.

'"jpHE first few hundred yards were
easily traversed. Then Larry's
leader came upon the first overhang of
rock. He signaled to Larry, directly
behind, to hold his group ready. Then
he threw his iron hook up over the lip
of the overhang. Carefully he pulled
on the rope. And the hook sailed out
into space to strike twenty feet below.
Pulling it back, he cast again. And
once more, before it gripped. Then he
began the ascent, hand over hand, on
the rope. Every man held his breath.
Every eye watched with keen anxiety—
until at last the leader disappeared over
the lip.

"Wow!" Crane whispered softly.
"What a stunt man he'd make."

"Right. And don't forget, ape,
you've got to do that too," Larry whis-
pered to him.

A groan was the answer.

Then the rope came snaking down

182

AMAZING STORIES

to hang within Larry's reach. Unhesi-
tatingly he took hold and began the
climb. It was back-breaking work.
He looked back once. But the vision
of needle sharp rocks below, reaching
like sharks' teeth for prey, spurred him
on. He did not look down again.

The rope became taut. Crane had
started to climb. One by one the
twenty men in their group followed.
And when they reached the leader and
Larry, it was to find them inspecting
the next obstacle, a chasm thirty feet
wide.

There was no way around it. The
sides of the abyss stared them in the
face like parentheses, with smooth-
sided walls for boundaries.

"What now?" Larry asked.

Carefully the leader inspected the
containing walls. They were smooth as
glass. At the far edge of the chasm, an
outcropping of rock stuck up like a
thick fence post. Disengaging the
hook, the leader made a loop in one
end of the rope. Whirling it above his
head, he cast it out across the void. It
settled over the rock, like a homing
pigeon coming in to its roost. In a mo-
ment the rope became a slender cable
stretching over the chasm. But there
was nothing to which the other end
could be secured.

"Look's like the end of the line,"
Crane commented on the impasse. He
spoke too soon, however. The leader
did something then, that would burn in
Larry's mind forever. Passing the rope
under his armpits, he secured it around
his chest. Then he walked back to the
edge of the overhang and lowered him-
self until he hung suspended in air.
The rope was now truly a cable.

One by one the twenty-two men
crossed the crevice. As the last one
came to a panting, gasping halt on the
opposite side, Larry hailed the human
anchor.. It was with a sigh of relief

that they saw him appear. But how was
he to get across?

Motioning for them to disengage the
rope, he pulled it in and coiled it around
his chest. Then he withdrew a pair of
odd-looking objects from his pocket
and slipped them over the soft mate-
rial of his shoes. Then he did some-
thing that made every watcher gasp in
amazement. He began to scale the
smooth side of the wall!

Inch by inch he crawled over the
surface. They saw his hands reach for,
and find, tiny crevices for his fingers.
And they saw now what he had put on
his feet. Suction cups! Larry lived
over every second of that frightful jour-
ney with the leader. And at the end,
he was as exhausted as if he had made
the crossing.

They rested then, until the leader
could regain his strength.

"Jeez," said Crane, as they sat on
the ground and chewed the tablets
which contained some sort of stimu-
lant. "I'm sure glad the girl isn't with
us. How come she didn't raise a stink
about havin' to stay back there?"

"She did," Larry answered, smiling
in remembrance. "But when the Mas-
ter suggested she remain, she saw it
wouldn't have done any good to argue."

"It'd be like arguin' with God,
wouldn't it?"

Larry turned startled eyes in Crane's
direction. He had never thought of it
that way. Now it almost made sense.
It was a little like that. But there
wasn't time for soul-searchings or
speculations. Already the men were
rising to their feet, stretching cramped
and aching muscles.

Once again they were on the move.
This time over comparatively smooth
ground.

It didn't last long however. A few
hundred yards and they faced another
escarpment.

TRUK ISLAND

183

J ARRY held a brief consultation
with the leader and Crane.

"Yep," Crane said, casting a weather
eye upward, "this is the last step. 'Bout
half a mile of this, then it'll be smooth
sailing to the top."

They were on a narrow mesa-like
shelf, almost a hundred yards wide.
Larry had a clear view to either side
of the mountain. On all sides, above
and below, men clung to, or slowly
moved over, the vast face of the moun-
tain. Human flies groping for sanctuary.
And some never found it.

Once a leader lost his balance and
fell. And twenty men fell with him.
Bouncing from rock to rock, like rub-
ber balls, until their lifeless bodies came
to a final resting place at the bottom.
Again and again the others saw men
lose their grips and go sailing into
space.

"Jeez," Crane mumbled in a sick
voice, "what a way to diel"

"And you," Larry reminded him
gently, "had no faith in these men be-
cause they showed no emotion. I guess
what they feel is planted so deep in
them that there's no need to show it."

Crane nodded solemnly. He felt
proud, suddenly, that he was one of
them. Felt, too, the responsibility that
rested on his shoulders.

"Let's go, pal," he said softly. "We
got a date with some rats."

They went upward again. Upward
until the muscles in their necks ached
with unending torture. Until their fin-
gers became raw and bloody from the
shards of granite they encountered.
Until the bones, sinews, tendons and
nerves in all their bodies screamed a
protest of each foot of the never-ending
climb. Until the leader, stood, at last,
on the topmost peak and pulled Larry
up beside him.

They should have collapsed on the
ground. Fallen and never risen again.

Nor would Larry have blamed them.
They had done the impossible. Scaled
the unscalable. But these were not or-
dinary men, he realized. These were
men fighting for a way of life that was
dear to them. So dear that death held
no terrors for them.

Larry's was the first group to reach
the mountain top. The others joined
them. Some came intact — leader and
twenty men, others were only the re-
mains of their unit — and last came the
stragglers and the lone men who had
escaped when the rest plunged to their
deaths.

Quickly, group commanders called
the roll. Two hundred and eighty men
had been lost. Larry wished he could
call a halt: give them a breathing spell.
But they were fighting against time.
Every moment counted. A junction had
to be made with Farnsworth.

Silently he turned and took the first
step toward Kipangoo. He could see
it in the near distance, a black bolt in
the brilliant light. The designers of
the city had — almost deliberately, it
seemed — constructed the city of some
black material. As if the blackness
signified the evil that rooted within its
walls.

He knew that they would enter a
thinly wooded area, a mile from the
city. The forest ended abruptly a hun-
dred yards from the outskirts. Those
hundred yards were the most dangerous
of all. For once they were past the
forest edge, it was all open ground and
uphill.

What he failed to see was the nar-
rowed slanting eyes which watched the
ranks form and begin to march forward.
The owners of those eyes were well hid-
den by the trees.

Then the sheltering trees sheltered
nothing. But a form stole away, run-
ning at full speed, to report what it
had seen.

184 AMAZING

'"JTHERE was no need for Larry to
give last-minute instructions. The
men knew their duties. And the group
commanders knew theirs. The forest
swallowed them up.

The knee-high grass at the edge of
the forest swayed, as if stirred by a
breeze. Then a figure, clad in what
was once green cloth, now stained
brown, arose and ran forward a half-
dozen paces to flop into the grass again.
Another figure arose and went through
the same maneuver. The grass became
alive with creeping, crawling, rising and
falling men.

Ten yards — twenty — fifty — sixty
yards they advanced. Then there were
but twenty more yards to go. Larry
thrust his head above the grass cover.
Beyond the shacks he could see a broad
street leading up to the center of the
town. Unlike Lemuris, Kipangoo could
boast of rich and poor. It was evident
they had approached the slum section
of the city. Confronting his eyes were
a score of wooden hovels, all leaning
at crazy angles and all looking as if
a breeze would send them tumbling to
the ground. In Lemuris the buildings
were awe-inspiring and breath taking
in their beauty. Their multi-colored
spires reached sunward as if in prayer.
In Kipangoo, the architecture was al-
together different. The buildings were
squat-bodied, one-storied affairs, hud-
dled together wall to wall.

A body pressed close to his. Crane's
hoarse whisper, "Look. The joint we
gotta knock off," told him that the
four-storied, square-shaped building
that was the hub of the city was also the
council chamber, the seat of govern-
ment.

But Larry's mind was intent on
something else.

"I don't like it," he said abruptly.
"It looks too peaceful. Lookl There
isn't a person to be seen."

STORIES

"Maybe they're havin' lunch."
"That's what I'm afraid of. That
they're going to have us for lunch. Keep
your fingers crossed, ape, because here
we go."

With those words, he rose to his feet
and started at a run for the line of
shacks. It was the signal for the as-
sault. Immediately every man had
risen and followed. They didn't get
far.

The line of shacks erupted into a
fury of sound and fire. Larry and his
men had walked into an ambush 1

Whirling quickly, Larry screamed,
"Sappers up!" and dropped to his
knees. The short-barreled rifle was at
his shoulder. There was no sound, no
fire, no smoke, as he pressed the trigger.
He couldn't even tell whether his fire
had any effect. But he aimed at the
gun flashes in the windows of the hut
nearest him.

Anger boiled in Larry. They had
been seen. And led to the slaughter
like lambs. He knew that losses had
been heavy at the first volley. Men
had dropped like ten pins on a bowling
alley. Somewhere to his left a man
was screaming, like an animal in pain.
The screams were being echoed all over
the field. He felt thankful that the
dead could not scream.

He became aware of men gathering
around him. A voice said, "Here, sir."

He swiveled his head around. Twen-
ty men lay pressed close to the earth
nearby. Suspended from the waist-
band of each were two bags. They were
the sappers he had called up. There
were ten grenades in each bag. There
had been fifty of these sappers at the
start. The mountain had taken heavy
toll of them.

"Clear a path for us, men," he or-
dered. "We're going down this street!"

In a matter of seconds they were on
their way. He couldn't see them. But

TRUK ISLAND

185

he knew they were worming their way
closer to the huts. Close enough so
their precious grenades would work.

'JpHEN there were a dozen thunder-
ous explosions. He had not seen the
men fling the grenades. But each had
selected a target and heaved his deadly
missile. Smoke, dirt and Kips erupted
from the spot where the explosives had
landed. The way had been cleared.

A cheer swept the field. Again Larry
started off, Crane at his side. This
time they gained the broad width of the
street before meeting opposition. And
again the sappers had to called in. Each
house sheltered a sniper. Each roof
top was a barricade. The fire was mur-
derous.

Here, a man clutched his throat as
though he could stop his life's blood
from leaving that way. There, another
ran woodenly forward, only to fall flat
on his face. Another dropped his gun
and sat down, holding his middle with
both hands, while the red blood seeped
between the gripping fingers.

Larry saw all this, yet did not see it.
They were pictures in his mind. Un-
forgettable and unbearable. But he
was their commander. He could not
stop to console. He had to lead them
out of this nightmare.

"Stay out of the street," he shouted,
and set the example by running to the
shelter of the houses. "Sappers up!"
he called again.

Again the earth-shaking roar of high
explosives. Now the Lemurians moved
through the streets like grim avengers.
It was like magic. A group of men
charged out of a blazing building.
Short, thick-bodied men, dressed in
gaudy clothing. They came out scream-
ing. Larry saw them for an instant.
Then they were gone, vanished, as if
they had suddenly evaporated.

The battle developed a new. phase.

The Kips, as though realizing they were
fighting a losing battle, threw caution
to the winds. They came from the
shelter of the houses. They dropped
from the roof tops. Seeking to kill or
to be killed.

Four leaped directly in the path of
Larry and Crane. And for the first
time he saw them up close. Evil-look-
ing men with maddened faces, lusting
to kill. Now it was a personal matter.
This wasn't something you shot at a
distance.

Each of the Kips was armed with a
wicked-looking curved knife. And
Larry stepped to meet them. Crane
giggled, unaccountably. Larry always
remembered that giggle. There's noth-
ing funny in killing a man, he thought.
For Crane had brought the heavy stock
of the rifle down across a Kip's skull.
The skull split open as if a cleaver had
been attached to the rifle. That was
when Crane had giggled.

r JpHEN Larry went a little mad too.

The two Kips had started to circle
him. Suddenly he leaped toward one,
whirled and, swinging his riflle like a
baseball bat, struck the other Kip
across the throat. There was a crack-
ing sound and the Kip's head sank at a
ludicrous angle before he fell to the
ground. But in that second the other
Kip struck. Larry didn't know he'd
been struck. There was no pain. He
only felt the sharp steel lick lightly
across his chest. Then the Kip was in
his arms. Forgotten was the rifle or
the knife at his side. Larry wanted
only to kill the man with his bare hands.

His fingers clamped themselves about
the muscular brown throat. Lifting the
Kip in the air, he swung him down and
inward between his legs. His knees
scissored the Kip's waist, holding him
taut. Then Larry proceeded to stran-
gle the man.

186

AMAZING STORIES

Tighter and tighter Larry drew his
fingers together. The Kip's face be-
came dark with congested blood, his
eyes protruded horribly and his lips
opened showing a thick purplish tongue.

Larry was smiling, although he didn't
know it. Nor did he hear the animal
sounds that came from his throat. He
knew only that it was good to kill. To
kill these beasts until not a single one
remained alive.

The Kip's hands made futile, clawing
movements. And as life was squeezed
from the brown throat, those hands be-
came supplicating things, caressing in
their motion across Larry's body. The
hands slid down across his sides to his
waist. Larry didn't feel them. All his
senses were bound up in the kill so that
he didn't feel the man's fingers close
around the knife haft and draw the
blade from its scabbard.

Suddenly, the Kip's body arched
backward — his right hand flew back —
then down, the knife plunging straight
for Larry's throat.

Three things happened simultaneous-
ly: The Kip's body went rigid for a
second, then collapsed in death. A
shining arc of light flashed across Lar-
ry's vision and something struck him a
blow in the chest.

Larry released his grip. The body
fell away and Larry looked down to
see what had struck him. Lying at
his feet was a man's hand, severed
at the wrist. Within the still clenched
fingers was a knife . . . Larry's!

He turned startled, bewildered eyes
to the man standing beside him. It
was the group leader — the mountain
climber. He was wiping blood from
his knife, across his trousers.

Then Larry realized what had hap-
pened. This man had come up in time
to see the Kip draw Larry's knife. And
had stuck, even as the Kip had struck.
Only quicker.

Reaction set in for Larry, now that
the immediate excitement was over.
Dazedly he looked about him. The
street was a shambles. Bodies lay
everywhere, mostly Lemurians. The
gutters literally ran red. But what ef-
fected him most was the silence. Gone
was the gunfire, the sound of grenades
bursting, the hoarse shouts of men
locked in mortal struggle. Not even
the sound of the wounded.

A red mist swam before Larry's eyes.
He staggered and two pair of arms held
him erect. His head fell forward, chin
striking his chest. Then he saw his
blood-soaked shirt. Crane noticed it
at the same time.

"Hey, kid! You been hit!"

Then Crane's big hands were tearing
at the cloth, ripping it away to expose
a long knife gash on his friend's chest.
Blood welled slowly over the raw edges
of the wound. But Crane saw that it
was only a flesh wound, painful but
not serious.

Larry's weakness passed almost as
quickly as it had come.

"What happened?" he asked of the
man who had saved his life.

"They lost their desire for battle, I'd
say," the other answered smiling.

"You know all the group command-
ers, don't you?" Larry asked.

"Yes sir."

"Find them and have them assem-
ble the men again. Maybe this battle
isn't over yet."

TARRY almost groaned aloud when
he saw what was left of his force.
Of the two thousand men who had
started out, not more than six hundred
remained. And some of these were
wounded. But on every face was the
same expression. A do or die determi-
nation.

Almost lightly Larry gave his final
command.

TRUK ISLAND

187

"Well, gang, they haven't stopped us
yet. So what do you say? Might as
well finish what we started."

There were no cheers. They were
too tired — too worn. But there was
no hesitation as they formed ranks and,
with Larry in the lead, started off again.
This time there was to be no running
to the protecting walls of buildings. As
Crane put it:

"The hell with 'em! We can take it
and we can dish it!"

The street stretched out before them
silent, deserted yet holding threat.

An remembered stanza popped into
Larry's mind as he marched along.

"Into the valley of death,
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them.
Cannon to left of them.
Volleyed and thundered."

He didn't know whether those were
the exact words. But he thought how
apropos that stanza was. These too
were six hundred. There were no can-
nons nor did they ride. But theirs was
also a journey through a valley of death.

The blood had coagulated on Larry's
wound. But the pain remained. Every
step was torture. It was as though pain
didn't exist, so erect did he march. He
could not be any less the man than
those he led. For he knew what they
had been through. Knew now, how
hopeless it had all been from the very
beginning. Six hundred against how
many thousand? He didn't know. But
he did know there would be many less
Kips before these men were through
fighting.

The silence, the lack of opposition
began to worry him. The council hall,
their ultimate goal, was only a short
distance off. Already he was in the
wide road which encircled the hall. He
saw that the hall was the center of the

city, for radiating from it like the
spokes of a wheel, were the streets of
Kipangoo.

"On the double, men," he called,
starting off at a trot.

They were halfway across, when the
final attack came. Thousands of Kips
debouched from every street. More
thousands came running from behind
the hall. In a matter of seconds they
were completely surrounded. A hail of
death was sent into the marching Le-
murians.

As if they were performing a drill
maneuver on the parade ground, the
LemUrians formed a square, each side
facing the enemy. The first line of
each side lay flat upon the ground.
The second was on bended knee and
the third stood erect. Within the square
was the reserve.

Each man fired at will. And the
devastation they wrought was terrific.
The Kips were like drops of dew in a
hot sun. They simply disappeared.
Literally.

Those who escaped the Lemurian fire
turned and ran for the nearest shelter.
And once again the streets were de-
serted.

In all the hail of leaden death di-
rected at them, Larry was surprised
to see even one of his men escape. A
dozen times death had fanned his cheek.
Each time, however, it had sought an-
other. One glance told Larry that at
least one fourth of his men had been
killed.

"Did it again, eh, pal?" a voice said.
Or rather mumbled.

Larry turned to see Crane swaying
drunkenly on his feet. He was a gory
mess from one shoulder to his knees.
Larry put his arm around the camera-
man and held him erect.

"Hurt bad, pal?"

"Naw ! Can't knock off an old wreck
like me," Crane mumbled in reply. .

188

AMAZING STORIES

gUT Crane was hurt, bad. Larry
saw the perforations. Three of
them. One through the shoulder, one
through the thigh. Another bullet had
creased his side. The wounds them-
selves were not serious. But the re-
sultant loss of blood was.

"Ail right, ape," Larry said gently.
"Lie down now. And stay put."

"Might as well," the other mumbled.
"Looks like the end of — car — line."
His voice trailed off at the end.

"Guess you're right," Larry whis-
pered to himself. The retreating Kips
had disappeared into the buildings
fronting the plaza. Their presence soon
became felt. Hidden as they were, safe
from the anti-personnel rifles, they
sprayed the Lemurians with a withering
fire. It was an entirely hopeless situa-
tion.

Larry knew it was only a matter of
time, and not very much of that, before
they would be wiped out. He looked
about, searching for a weak spot, some
avenue of escape. He looked . . . and
could not believe what his eyes told him.

An entire row of buildings disap-
peared under his gaze. He whirled
about in time to see the huge council
hall do a fade-out. Some one shouted,
"Look!" and pointed upward.

A hundred planes circled lazily over-
head. Lemurian planes. Burton had
arrived in the nick of time. One by
one the planes landed in the area cleared
by their guns. From the first plane,
two figures leaped and ran side by side
toward them. It was Emily and Bur-
ton.

J7MILY HART sat beside Larry Up-
ton on the narrow sofa. Behind
them, stood Crane, his wide-lipped
mouth agrin. Seated across from them
was the old man whom the Lemurians
called the Master. Burton stood be-
side him.

The Master had just explained how
Farnsworth had been ambushed and
how his entire force had been de-
stroyed. And how the Kips had thought
Larry's force was the advance guard
of the main invasion group.

"But sir," Larry interrupted. "What
about those energy guns on Burton's
planes?"

■There was sadness in the Master's
voice, as he explained.

"Their manufacture was completed
just after your, departure. It took a
little time to install them. Had we been
quicker "

The rest of them knew what he
meant. A lot of lives would have been
saved.

The old man continued:

"Burton tells me you wish to return
to your world. Truly, I am sorry to
hear it. Yours is a world torn by strife
and dissension. But I will do as you
ask. And because you have enemies
above, I will do more. I will see to it
that those enemies are eradicated. I
am dispatching a fleet of planes to the
outer world. You will go with them.
When they are done with their mission,
you will be free to go where you will."

The three knew what he meant.

"Boy oh boy!" Crane chortled in
glee. "What a surprise those Japs are
gonna get."

The Master stood up and shook the
hand of each American. And into each
pair of eyes he sent a strange, piercing
glance. . .

EPILOGUE

ID EAR ADMIRAL PIERCE MC-
DOWELL wore a worried expres-
sion.

"Darhn," he grumbled to his second-
in-command, "What's happened to
those scout planes?"

The super battle-wagon Montana,

TRUK ISLAND

which was the Admiral's flagship,
plowed steadily forward. Huge waves
of gray-green water cascaded back from
its prow. To either side, as far as the
eye could reach, long lines of ships
stretched over the water. Every fight-
ing ship in that mighty task force was
on the alert. They were going to at-
tack Truk, the keystone in the island
defense of Japan's Pacific Empire.

McDowell had ordered the planes
sent out as an advance patrol. None of
the twenty had returned.

Captain Randall, McDowell's aide,
searched the skies through a pair of
high-powered field glasses.

"I see them, sir," he announced mat-
ter-of-factly. "But there are only six.
There they go in on the Invincible."

A few minutes later McDowell looked
up from the report relayed by the In-
vincible. There was palpable bewilder-

ment in his voice as he handed the pa-
per to Randall.

"Here, Randall. Read this."
Randall read aloud:

"Lieutenant Commander Nich-
olson, as per instructions, took off
on scouting trip. Met no planes in
vicinity o) Truk. Flew directly
over island. Noticed absence of
installations, enemy shipping. Or-
dered planes to land. Nicholson
reports that there wasn't a plane,
ship, gun or enemy on entire island.
The only humans found were three
Americans: a Miss Emily Hart,
reported to have been lost in 1030
on a round-the-world flight, and
her co-pilot, Larry Upton, and
their cameraman, Richard Crane.
They claim they were forced down
by a storm, a week before''

THE END

JAc SPECTER 4

By PETE

ON THE anniversary of the attack of Pearl
Harbor and the beginning of the Pacific
War, : Islamic leaders broadcasting from
Melbourne to the millions of Mohammedans
throughout the Netherlands East Indies' Arch-
ipelago called for the destruction of the Japanese,
"Allah's enemies," and stressed particularly that
"democratic countries have proved to be the friends
of the Islamic peoples."

It so happened that December 7, 1943 was an
Islamic holiday on which the accomplishment of
the Fifth Pillar of the Islam religion is celebrated.
"With Moslems throughout the world commem-
orating this holy day," the broadcaster said, "our
co-religionists in the Netherlands East Indies have
been ordered by the Japanese authorities to cele-
brate the attack on Pearl Harbor." And, towards
the conclusion of his moving appeal, the Moham-
medan leader exclaimed, "More than 3,000 Indone-
sians, living in our Holy Land and representing all
Indonesian Moslems, are cared for by the Nether-
lands Government. . . . The democratic countries
have proved -that they are friends of the Moslems ;
they are respectful to our religion and to the
Islamic people generally."

This was not the first time after the subjugation
of the Indies that its inhabitants were publicly

? SHINTOISM

BOGG

warned by fellow Islamites against the insidious
attacks of the Nipponese upon their religious free-
doms. And so, for those who have been listening
closely to the tenor of Japanese broadcasts during
the last few months, the warning possessed no
element of surprise. Veiling their efforts in a very
thin cloak of religious tolerance and understand-
ing, the Japanese have been busily engaged in try-
ing to "coordinate" the various religious currents
in the Indies with the obvious intention to infuse
them with the principles of Shintoism.

Around the middle of October a broadcast from
Tokyo informed the world that a three-day con-
ference would be organized at Sourabaya, on the
occupied island of Java, of "various Christian com-
munities with the purpose of discussing stronger
cooperation with other religious bodies." This
statement was preceded by another radio talk in
which it was announced that a quarter of a million
Christian natives on the island of Amboina had
been united in a "conference for the realization of
national service." Now "realization of national
service" is an intentionally vague slogan which, if
translated into simple language, would be found to
have no religious but a purely political bearing.
"You will have to do what we want, or else . .
is the thought it means to convey.

AMAZING STORIES

For twenty months the Japanese authorities have
tried to induce the large masses of Indonesians to
support them materially in their war against the
democratic nations. In close resemblance with the
methods applied by the Nazis in Europe, the Nip-
ponese have used every form of cajolery and
threat to achieve this aim. But thus far they had
not dared to touch upon one of the deepest-seated
emotions of the Indonesians, their religious con-
victions. Now an all-out attack has evidently been
started to arouse the "lethargic" population to en-
thusiasm for the co-prosperity policy by heralding
to them the coming of a "crusade against England,
the United States and Holland," the "annihilation
of those who would suppress religious freedom."

In the hope that no one else will remember them,
the Japanese propagandists conveniently forget the
significant words uttered immediately after the
occupation of the Netherlands East Indies by one
of their outstanding propaganda Leaders, Oka-
mura : "All those who oppose our principles of
Japanese life will be annihilated. We will not tol-
erate principles opposing the idea of Tenno — either
in our own country or outside our frontiers."

What is the Tenno idea? Tenno in Japanese
means Emperor of Heavenly Origin. In the Jap-
anese conception the Emperor is the Son of Heaven
and this idea has been prevalent throughout the
history of Japan. The investment of the Japanese
Emperor with political power in addition to his
religious authority, is the result of less than a cen-
tury of Nipponese endeavors to use religion as a
mere background for their political gains.

Obviously, the untimely utterance of Okamura
could not fail to sow doubt in the minds of the
leaders of the various religious movements fn the
Netherlands Indies. They must have asked them-
selves whether it was the Nipponese intention to
introduce Shintoism into the occupied territory,
thus slowly but surely eradicating the existing
churches and religious institutions. Gradually they
must have felt their existence more and more
threatened— in spite of subsequent Japanese
promises.

No doubt the invaders themselves recognized the
danger of forcing their religious beliefs too brusque-
ly upon the peoples of the Archipelago. They
"retreated one step, in order to jump further"; they
have, in fact, on various occasions, put themselves
out to exhort both Moslems and Christians that
they should "remain faithful to their beliefs." As
far as the Mohammedans are concerned, the Nip-
ponese are well aware of the need of extreme
watchfulness with their Tenno propaganda. The
Koran is the sacred word for more than one hun-
dred million Mohammedans living in countries at
present occupied by Japan. Whoever dares to touch
the Koran will no doubt unchain powerful forces
of resistance, forces that will shrink neither from
threats nor bayonets. Recognizing this irrefutable
fact, the Japanese — with many smirks and bows —
have hastened to assure the Mohammedan Indone-
sians that their religious freedom will be respected.

'"PHE very fact of this assurance must have in-
A creased considerably the suspicion in Moham-
medan circles as, before the invasion of the islands,
this religious freedom was rigidly maintained by
the Netherlands authorities. Gradually, it became
clear that the Japanese were merely using their
smiling reassurances to hide a completely different
policy. When, for example, the Japanese-con-
trolled Batavia radio announced solemnly that cer-
tain Japanese measures aimed "at heightening the
level of the Indies' peoples by placing them under
the influence of Oriental culture," adding that "the
Tenno idea in particular will be applied to the
Islamic as well as to other religions," there was
every reason for the Indonesians to take these
statements seriously and prepare themselves for
the shock of further developments.

Even when the Japanese attitude toward the
various religions of the Archipelago had as yet be-
come less threatening, there were indications of the
course they meant to follow. In November of
last year, for instance, the Japanese military au-
thority seemed perfectly willing to enable pil-
grims to make their yearly trip to Mecca, Mo-
hammedan holy city. They offered safe conducts
for all pilgrims' ships — with only three restrictions.
In the first place, the occupation authorities had to
be informed of the exact departure date and the
destination of each ship. Secondly, neither crews
nor passengers were to engage in matters of a
political nature; and finally, the ships would ex-
clusively carry pilgrims.

These restrictions seemed reasonable enough.
The trouble was, however, that the Japanese had
used so much time before announcing them that
their official permission for pilgrims to travel to
Mecca came much too late. In this way, while
preserving a semblance of suavity, the Japanese
had gained a full year in which to invent new ex-
cuses for withholding their permission for the
yearly Hadjih. Naturally, they did not fail to
spread the rumor that the pilgrimage had been
sabotaged by the British who, so the Japanese de-
clared, had refused to recognize the Nipponese
safe-conducts for the pilgrim-carrying ships. It
was not to be expected that the occupation author-
ities would reveal the real reason for their subter-
fuge, namely that they simply did not have the
ships to place at the disposal of the pilgrims, nor
expected to have any ships available in the coming
years. By dilly-dallying with the official permis-
sion and by placing the blame on the British, they
sought to "save face" before the newly-conquered
population.

Following the tradition Japanese technique of
announcing long-existing conditions as newly-
created improvements, a broadcast from Tokyo
annouced last August that both the Mohammedan
New Year and the birthday of Mohammed would
be added to the list of official holidays, "out of
respect for the religious traditions of the Indone-
sians." This decision was heralded with great
emphasis as thought it were a new and unheard-of

THE SPECTER OF SHINTOISM

191

act of tolerance on the part of the Japanese bene-
factors. The truth of the matter was that through-
out the history of the Indies these Mohammedan
holidays have always been officially recognized.

If, after these and similar occurrences, the people
of the Indies had still been in need of further
warnings against coming Japanese efforts to harass
their religious movements, the action of the enemy
on the island of Bali must have been sufficient to
convince even the least suspicious. In August a
"Cultural Research Society" was formed in Bali,
under the sponsorship of the Japanese. Its purpose
was stated to be the promotion of advanced cul-
ture among the people of Bah" "who for centuries
have been influenced by superstitions derived from
a special branch of Hinduism." Presumably this
referred to Balinese rituals of purely Hin du origin
and dating back to a period long before the advent
of Mohammedanism in the Indies.

PTEADILY, the Japanese effort to centralize all
^ religious movements into one organization in-
creased and became more and more noticeable. Af-
ter their "interest" in the Mohammedans and
Hindus, they also busied themselves with the
Christian churches, with the intention to permeate
every one of them with the Tenno idea, as soon as
they are placed under the direction of Japan.

In the island of Celebes the work of thus "unit-
ing" the churches has evidently already been
accomplished. The organization of a "Christian
Service Corps" was broadcast, this being a federa-
tion "of more than ten Christian sects, embracing
a total of at least one thousand churches." As an
apology for the institution of this "federation" the
Tokyo announcer added that the measure was
necessary because "these churches have been politi-
cal instruments in the hands of Great Britain and
the United States*

Strangely contrasting with this accusation is the
fact that Tokyo has repeatedly organked large-
scale conventions, the avowed aim of which was
"to stimulate the continuation of the war in a
more intensive manner." And as if to underscore
the true nature of these gatherings, Tokyo an-
nounced time and again that they were held under
the combined protection of the Minister of War
and the Minister of the Navy.

In Celebes a reunion of Mohammedans was held
which, as described by the Japanese themselves,
served the purpose of discussing "the various ways
in which closer collaboration with the military
authorities could be achieved." Not a single word
was said about religion.

The very same picture was offered by another

* For those who can read between the lines, this
statement means that the Japanese met with strong
resistance from Celebes' Christians. Naturally, this
unwillingness to accept the "blessings of co-pros-
perity" was blamed upon their religious adher-
ence.—Ed.

convention of "the representatives of ten million
Mohammedans from the Malay States and
Sumatra." These "representatives" were forced to
adopt a resolution in which they declared their
eagerness "to contribute to the Japanese military
effort." Subsequently, the convention members
were compelled to pay public worship to a monu-
ment erected in honor of Japanese soldiers who
had fallen during the seige of Singapore.

Another striking example of these badly camou-
flaged efforts to get the support of the Indonesian
people via their religious movements, was the con-
vention held at Medan, Sumatra, last spring. In
true Japanese style the meeting was reported to
have closed with the adoption of a resolution ex-
pressing "the need of destroying Great Britain and
the United States" and of "continuing the war with
greater force than ever." But not a word pertain-
ing to religion was uttered at these "religious"
conventions.

Being well-armed and doubtlessly "on top" at
this moment, the Japanese will not find it too dif-
ficult a task to force defenseless thousands in the
Indies to attend conventions, and to refrain from
opposing resolutions in favor of their war aims.
They also have the power to misquote religious
leaders of the Archipelago, a power which they use
unsparingly ; and they may even pretend an inter-
est in broad-minded measures for the safe-guarding
of each religious movement — rules which were
never necessary before.

It is quite another matter, however, to bring
about the general acceptance of Shintoism and of
the Tenno idea. Japan is striving to make Tokyo
not only a political but also a religious center, by
imposing a cultural as well as an economic im-
perialism on the peoples of the Far East. It is not
in the nature of prophecy to say that the Nip-
ponese invaders will never succeed in this gigantic
change-over. Mecca is the historical center of the
Islam and no power on earth can change this. For
the Japanese to believe that they can transfer this
center to Tokyo, borders on the ludicrous, At the
beginning of the war the Mohammedans found
words for this in a proclamation to their followers,
"We will fight for the Netherlands Indies— and for
Allah."

At times Mohammedans, as well as representa-
tives of other religions, have been at loggerheads
with the Netherlands authorities. But whatever
their differences may have been, they were never of
a religious nature. The principle of the well-
known nationalist, Dr. Tjipto Mangoenkoesoemo,
who declared himself "self-evidently on the side of
the Dutch" in the battle against Nippon, was
typical of the Indonesian attitude. For he, like
the others, realized that behind the beautiful
phraseology of Japanese politicians were hidden sly
attacks on many freedoms which throughout sev-
eral centuries had never been assailed.

THE END

GAMES IN WHICH RUBBER
BALLS WERE USED WERE
PLAYED IN A COURT 600"
WIDE BY 1900' LONG EN-
CLOSED BY A WALL 260'
THICK AT THE BASE AND
32' AT THE TOP CAPABLE
OF SEATING THOUSANDSI

A WAR DRINK
WAS GIVEN TO
AZTEC WARRIORS
MADE OF THE
JUICE OF THE
MAGUEY, OR
CENTURY PLANT.
IT WAS CALLED
PULQUE AND IN-
STILLED ALCO-
HOLIC COURAGE

THEIR RELIGION WAS A
BLOOD-THIRSTY ONE AND
THEY FREQUENTLY WENT
TO WAR FOR THS SOLE
PURPOSE OF SECURING
CAPTIVES FOR THEIR
SACRIFICIAL RITES TO
APPEASE THE GODS

THE SPANISH COVERED THE TULA
TEMPLE WITH EARTH AND BUILT
A CHURCH ATOP IT— BUT IT IS
STILL A TREMENDOUS REMINDER OF
A GIANT CITY OF GOLD AND
PEARLS THAT RIVALS BABYLON

ANCIENT AMERICANS— The Aztecs and Toltecs
By L TAYLOR HANSEN

Most of our knowledge of these American races comes to us the
hard way—because of the ruthless tactics of the Conquistadores

ONE of the very best pictures one can get
of the Aztecs is given to us through the
eyes of stout old Bernal Diaz Castillo, one
of the first Spanish to set foot upon the North
American Continent. His "History of the Con-
quest" reads like an adventure novel. One relives
with him the scenes which he witnesses; fights
with him through momentous battles; and
glimpses through his eyes the glory of the Ancient
Aztec capitol. Ignorant and bigoted though he
might have been, this old conquistador was thor-
oughly fair and not insensible to the havoc which
he had helped to bring about.

Therefore in the discussion of the nation which
he describes so well, let us call the land by the
name he calls it — Mexico, and the people — The
Mexicans. And let us remember that this was the
ancient name. The Spanish first heard it from
the natives of the coast where, being given trifling
little presents of gold, and inquiring about its
origin with greedy eyes, they were told of "Mex-
ico and Culua" words which at that time, he
admits, "we did not understand."

Bernal Diaz never did understand the word
completely, because he probably never took the
trouble to inquire from the rich sources of learn-
ing around him, its ancient meaning. Most of
these sources are denied to us today, but never-
theless, from studies of the Aztec, we can trace
out something of its meaning. The "war" drink
given to Aztec warriors, and of which Mexicans
are still more fond than is probably good for
them, is "Pulque," made from the juice of the
maguey, which is known to us under the name
of the century plant. The plant was under the
special protection of the War God — Mexitli.*
Literally, the name would be mehtl or maguey, xi
or root, and tli the termination. One might
translate it freely as "Out of the Maguey-root".

Like the papyrus of Ancient Egypt, this plant
gave the Aztecs, and probably the Toltecs before
them, an astounding number of benefits. They
ate the leaves, cooking them in a number of ways;
they pounded them to make paper for their
books; and they shredded them to make string
and rope, to mention a few of the uses.

The maguey, an aloe like the yucca, is a cere-
monial plant of the most sacred type. One won-

* Same as Huitxilopochtli.

ders if this originated with the fact that it had
spear-like leaves, or whether it rayed out from a
center, thus reminding them of a sun-plant, or
both? To the Indians the fibres are used to
weave ceremonial clothes, the soap from the
yucca root has special power when used to wash
the hair, and the food and wine from them a spe-
cial significance in ceremonials. And that is why
the Toltecs used maguey thorns to draw blood
from their ears and tongue during certain rituals.

Incidentally, the power of the maguey over the
collective imagination of Indian Mexico b not
dead. Zapata, (who bore an ancient name mean-
ing lance or dagger) , and was the Indian leader
in one of the many succeeding revolutions when
the red-skinned element of Mexico was overthrow-
ing the Europe-inspired regime of Diaz, used to
sally out of his mountains, and woe to the man
he caught wearing European clothes! He was
promptly strung up on a flowering maguey where
within a day the spear-like blossom would run
right through his body before it burst into bloom.
To the Indian mind, this form of execution had a
special significance which was probably never
fully understood by the Spanish-speaking aris-
tocracy of Mexico City.

Simpson is of the opinion that the land of
Mexico is a half-desert today because she has been
cultivating a desert plant so assiduously for the
past thousand years. Not that the blame lies en-
tirely with the vast maguey plantations which the
Aztecs cultivated. He also places part of the
blame with the tyrant corn. In this distribution
he seems to have neglected the cactus which was
also a domesticated plant of the Indians. Never-
theless, there may be something in his theory.

TT HAS often been said that the civilization of
* the Ancient Mexicans, or Aztecs, presents one
of the most striking series of contrasts ever ob-
served in any people. They exhibited, at the same
time, the most unexampled aspects of barbarism
and refinement existing side by side.

This is entirely true, yet from the Indian view-
point, it is completely understandable when we
see that the barbaric elements are due to the cere-
monials of & tyrannical and bloody religion. It
may be added that much of the "atrocities" prac-
ticed upon the white invaders across our own
western states by the red-skins is of the same

194

AMAZING STORIES

ceremonial nature. War with the Indian, was a
game of wits. They did not fight to kill, but to
take captives for their blood-thirsty gods.

The trouble with a bloody religion is, that once
the cycle is established, it becomes a vicious cycle.
During lean years, more blood is spilled so that the
angry gods will once more bestow their favors.
And if an invader is upon the soil, then certainly
the gods are tremendously angry. However, if
the gods are appeased, it is not well to reduce the
number of sacrifices, because the gods might then
again become angry. Therefore in good times,
the harassed people must make war to obtain
sacrifices in order to keep the gods in a state of
good humor. Bernal Diaz Del Castillo and his
fellow-invaders arrived when the gods were very
angry indeed!

Naturally this state of affairs is not conducive
to having friendly neighbors, who have their own
gods. Thus war was not a matter of a life and
death struggle, so much as a series of raids for
the purpose of obtaining captives for sacrifice.

It is interesting, however, to notice that bloody
religions were not always tie order of the day in
the civilizations of the Indians. Behind the ad-
vance of the Aztecs with their carnage-filled re-
ligion, were the Toltecs and their god who allowed
no human sacrifice.

Perhaps it is one of the ironies of history that
our best picture of the magnificence of the Toltec
civilization comes down to us in the language of
her conquerors, which in turn, is fast becoming a
lost tongue. Taking that relic of Aztec literature,
"The Song of Quetzalcoatl", itself a worked-over
fragment of a much more complete and under-
standable whole, yet from which, like the broken
pedestals of Greek Coliseum, we can glimpse the
structure which once existed; and reading it care-
fully as we walk through the mountainous earth-
covered mounds — we are suddenly transported to
this city of the past— Tula, The Magnificent !

MOT even the Tenochtitlan (Mexico City) of
1 ^ the old conquistador with its canals, its busy
market place, its dazzling white towers rising from
the water, its gardens and crowded causeways,
can compare to the grandeur of old Tula. One
needs a rich imagination to reconstruct the pal-
aces of emeralds, of gold and silver, or to visual-
ize the temples fashioned of mother-of-pearl and
of coral, with their rooms of exquisite wood-carv-
ing and decorated with the feather mosaics of the
most iridescent shades, which glorified the Toltec
capital.

Today, wandering through the earth-covered
mounds of Teotihuacan which has been identified
as Tula, it would be almost impossible to visualize
the living metropolis without this literary frag-
ment from antiquity to act as a guide. Yet with
the help of this trochaic saga, the great earth-
covered hill crowned with a Spanish church, is
again divested of the blanket of earth which the
Spanish laboriously dumped over it (since it was
too large to destroy) and once more becomes the

shining Pyramid of the Sun.

One can again see this stupendous edifice,
greater than anything which the glories of Baby-
lon, magnificent as they might have been, could
rival. Perhaps it is a day of ceremonial when the
great edifice, glowing in golden beauty, is alive to
one of the colorful ceremonials to the Christ-like
Quetzalcoatl. (The pageantry of the Katchina or
Matchine dances which flash here and there today
throughout our own Southwest and Indian
Mexico, are prominent in the dances of Oaxaca.
The spread of them suggests that they were not
as late, or as centralized, as the Aztec Mexican
Empire, but originated with an earlier and more
extensive culture.) In our reconstruction of the
Sun Pyramid (the name suggests an earlier origin
than Quetzalcoatl), we shall not be striking far
from the truth if we imagine this ceremonial a
glorified Katchina Dance, with pearls and emer-
alds sparkling from the golden-threaded tiaras and
costumes of sumptuous splendor. We can suppose
that these kaleidoscopic rituals lasted for days
during the periods of festival even as they now
do in the pueblos of the Southwest, and that the
drums beat day and night as they accompanied
the chants of the priests. Similarly, on the pat-
tern of present ceremonials, with the exception of
short rest intervals, other groups carried on by
torchlight throughout the nights — even to the final
dawn. All Indian festivities throughout the
Americas, end not at twilight, but at dawn \usu-
ally the fourth dawn, four being the mystic num-
ber) with the rising of the sun.

Or perhaps, in our reconstruction of this an-
cient metropolis of North America, one of the
many types of ball games of which all Indian
nations are so fond, was going on in the vast
court 600 ft. wide by 1900 ft. long, which stood
before the Great Pyramid. Throughout Mexico,
these games were played with a hard rubber ball
—rubber being one of the original products of the
American Indian.

In this case, probably not only the unused bits
of the Great Court was crowded with spectators,
but also the mighty wall beyond, whose base of
260 ft. thickness and thirty-two feet upon the top
would accommodate as large a throng as our
most modern football arena. This wall, in spite
of its crowns of fifteen minor temples, was over
a mile in length, and probably constructed for
just such occasions.

TPO THE east was the Sacred Court, facing the
avenue known as The Street of the Dead, and
in the center of the court a truncated pyramid
whose first altar was approached by thirteen
steps. This signified the thirteen cycles of the
First Sun Age. Back of it was a higher altar ap-
proached by a single stairway of 39 steps which
is symbolical of the 39 cycles of the Four Sun
Ages. This symbolism sounds very Aztecan and
for that reason is to be questioned. We know
that the Ancient Mexicans considered that their
god Tezcatlepoca, he of the "Smoking mirror"

SCIENTIFIC MYSTERIES

195

who taught them how to tear out living hearts,
was sometimes said to have ruled over this First
Sun Age. Again we are told that he was a leader
in the many migrations of his homeless and
harassed people, during the course of which he
had an argument with other leaders, and not ob-
taining his- way, had them killed by stealth. The
latter explanation sounds the most plausible. The
former story sounds like an attempt to give him
an antiquity he doesn't deserve, especially in view
of the fact that the "Old-Old" god of the Mexi-
cans was the Fire-god, a figure partially veiled.

Was this old-old god, again our "Veiled Maj-
esty"? Was this Amen figure the emperor who
ruled over the First Sun Age? A span of over
six hundred years was, of course, too long for
one life-time of a mortal, but a very short life-
span in the life of a deity. If this chronology
was Toltec before it was twisted around by the
Aztecs, then the fourth cycle was originally Tol-
tec. This throws the history very far back into
the veils of the past, especially if we accept it as
the long count instead of the short cycle of fifty-
twb years,

Some Aztec authorities do not believe tfiat the
Toltecs were conquered by the invading Mexi-
cans, but by an earlier tribe— the Chichimecs. If
we realize that "mec" means "people", then this
name has a familiar ring. Were these the "Tiger
Tribes" who, in their march to the south, may
have crossed the Isthmus and invaded South
America? Could they have included among their
original number such peoples as the Kitchae of
Kansas? And the very name Quichua * (Chee
hua), the latter part of which in all the lan-
guages of Guatemala (Hua-te-ma-la) always
means ancient or sacred, immediately suggests to
mind a desert valley which because of its widely
terraced ranges, in a climate where now but little
grows,** is an enigma to archaeologists. I am
speaking of Chihuahua. Does it mean just what
it says— "The ancient, sacred land of the Chees"?

Yet in this trail which we have followed
through two conquests to a city which, if this
intrusion did take place, could not have fallen
later than 800 A.D. because we have too many
events to account for, we seem to be on the point
of solving one mystery only to be confronted by

* Incus,

** South of Arizona.

another equally as baffling to us

'"THANKS to a fragment which survived the
A funeral pyre of Indian literature and history,
we are able to reconstruct the great capitol of the
empire which flourished before the one before the
last. Yet we do so only to discover that three
great empires had gone before that, each ruling
many ordained cycles, and that the first was the
most important (it had more stairways) than any
of them. This first colossus to which magnificent
Tula looked back with awe and reverence, was
called "The First Empire of the Sun". The very
name suggests that there were others to follow.

Are thert other survivals of the conflagration
which, though but mutilated fragments of what
they once were, nevertheless, extend new vistas
through which otherwise we would never have
been able to look? And as we look into other
civilizations, will we always find the veiled figure
of the "old-old god", even as we find him stand-
ing behind the bloody patheon of the Aztecs; or
meeting a completely revolutionary (for the red-
man) religion such as that of the Christ- like
Quetzalcoati with his single deity of unwavering
goodness, we discover in the eastern Sacred Court
a pyramid to a vast but well-known and revered
historical past?

In the long march of civilizations across the
Americas there are other such fragments which
give us momentary glimpses of these lost empires,
but in all of them, is there anything as taunting
to the scientific bent of mind (even as cool water
in those vistas which are fashioned on the burn-
ing sands of the desert by the fingers of the heat,
to a dying man) — as this pyramid covered with
the symbols of a lost history— this pyramid whose
thirteen cycles leading up to that first altar, we
shall never be able to know?

REFERENCES

True History of the Conquest of Mexico, by
Bernal Diaz Del Castillo, written in 1568 about
events from 1314 on.

Trans, from orig. Spanish and published by
Geo. G. Harrap Co., Ltd., in 2 Vols. 1927.

Todd Downing, The Mexican Earth.

John Hubert Cornyn, Song of Quetzalcoati.

Leslie Byrd Simpson, Many Mexiso.

A most interesting curiosity, but hard to ob-
tain, is the Documentos Ineditos Relaciones de
Yucatan (Unedited History).

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D 'SCUSSIONS

★ mazing Stories will publish in each issue a selection of letters from readers.
Everybody is welcome to contribute. Bouquets and brickbats will have
an equal chance. Inter-reader correspondence and controversy will be encour-
aged through this department. Get in with the gang and have your say.

I ■ ■

A DEATH RAT?

Sirs:

For the past V/z years I have been reading
Amazing Stories and have been content to just
read it and not enter into discussion or criticism
but after reading your March issue I no longer
can hold my peace.

All of the stories are 100 percent good with the
exception of "Journey In Time To Cleopatra".
When writing a story that goes into the past it is
best not to include facts that are false and can
be checked up on.

To Karl Bouvier Jr. this is just to remind you
that the world is made up of ifs and hopes and
also to let you know that a death ray was in-
vented 4 years agp and turned over to the TJ. S.
Government who put it where no one could get
it just for good measure.

To all Fans, I think it would be a good idea
if we were to write to each other and carry on
discussions between ourselves about the stories
and things that interest us in them. All letters
will be appreciated here. Hope to hear from some
of you soon.

Fred J. Stewart
612 Cherokee Trail
Portsmouth, Va.
Many of our storks take license -with the Past,
and much of their fascination is contained in the
fact that we allow ourselves to see the past as it

ftn SfdbMM and Accident

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_ MONEY quickly. TTieAMERTCAN
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■ .11 me bo w to get ^oof policy ' '

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tloa. No Agent w

Nat

[Cits-.

might Itave been, if ... So you see, Mr, Herman
had his reasons of not sticking strictly to truth.
After all, we are a fiction magazine, aren't we? —
Ed.

PHILOSOPHY BEHIND A. S.

Sirs:

I like the philosophy behind the existence of
Amazing Stories. Since progress is said to be
the history of man's dreams, you publish history
in advance. I like the genuineness of the charac-
ters, and the illustrations, but especially "Scientific
Mysteries", because they so tantalize my natural
curiosity.

But please, how about less emphasis on beings
of the "Headless Horror" type, and more upon
those who've developed some of the great poten-
tialities which scientists assert are lying untapped
within the here-and-now common man? Let's
have some as great or greater than their gadgets!

G. H. Byland
1245 Sixth Ave.
Des Moines 14, Iowa
We are rather tickled to know you consider we
publish history in advance! That is a rare compli-
ment on our authors' and our own foresight in
developing this magazine's fiction. We'll try to
get some stories of the type you request,— Ed.
ANEW FAN IS BORN I

Sirs:

The letter you are reading now is my official
entrance into what is referred to as "active" fan-
dom. I have never written a letter to a magazine.

The reason is probably that I have never found
a good reason for taking up even a few minutes
of the editor's valuable time. Even if you don't
print this, at least lend an ear.

I think I represent at least part of the "silent"
group of fans — that part that has begun reading
stf about three or four years ago, and consequent-
ly has missed out on what are usually considered
the classics of fantasy and science-fiction.

This is my plea:

While I realize that there are plenty of good
stories published in stf-mags today, there is an
overwhelming percent of trash, probably used
only as filler. Now why not, instead of using
that stuff (which a self-respecting fan probably
will not deign to read anyway), print, in serial
form if there is not room to run a whole one
per issue, some of the older classics? There should
be enough in the back files of Amazing and FA
to keep that hack that you are printing out. I "

AMAZING STORIES

197

MR BONDS

" A GRAND TOTAL OF

mom

IN PRICES iS^^«?V5

FOR YOUR IDEAS ^5^Cr?\NS>"

refer, by hack, to such masterpieces of degeneracy
as the Lefty Feep series, and others of the so-
called humor 3tories. (Humor they certainly aren't,
plot they have little, and development and, more
important, style they have none.) By style I
don't mean that I expect the touch of a Merritt
or a Lovecraft or even a Weinbaum on every
page, but for God's sake, no more of that stuff
that is plainly filler, and written for that and
nothing more.

About that Lemuria yarn —

Ed., old boy, you've got something there. There
are two hypotheses that come to mind regarding
that particular story, or article, or whatever one
is supposed to call it. One, it is a fake. If so, it
will probably be a rippingly good story at any
rate. Two, it Is the real McCoy. If this is true,
you have on your hands the biggest scoop in
magazine history. I can hardly wait for this one
to appear.

Re Scientific Mysteries—

This is the best series of articles I have ever
seen in any publication. Of course, it is on a
subject in which I am intensely interested, which
may have something to do with my opinion of
it. Some of his hypotheses are a bit too far-
fetched, for example, the one regarding the "Two
Lands," in the May Amazing article. It is one
of the established facts regarding Egyptian his-
tory that the two lands were Upper and Lower
Egypt. This curious dual principle was one of
the outstanding things about the earlier Egyptian
dynasties. The kings' treasury was even built
with two doors, and the king's servants were
"duplicated," so to speak, that is, there might
be two "Overseers of the King's Cosmetic Pen-
cil,"— one to minister to him as the Lord of
Upper Egypt, and the other to minister to him
as the Lord of Lower Egypt.

However, regarding that connection between
Egypt and the Americas, Hansen might have
brought in that the Pharoabs' treasure-house and
their palaces were usually red, that is, only m the
Delta country. In fact, the name Phaxoah (Egyp-
tian Per-o) originally meant "the Red House."
This is interesting in regard to the Amerind's be-
lief in red as the sacred color of the sun. The
confining of this color-belief to the Delta is also
interesting, inasmuch as that part of Egypt was
believed to have been overrun by the Lybians,
that people which Hansen seems to take such a
special interest in.

Almost forgot to rate the stories.

1. Murder in Space — Reed has another honey.
Not up to his "Empire of Jegga," though.

2. I, Rocket — An original idea, as far as I can
determine. Nice going.

3. The Free-Lance of Space.

4. The Headless Horror — the only thing that
keeps this as high at it is, is that the others were
much worse.

5 & 6. MM'sGT & TCD were just too bad to
be mentioned in the same letter with the first
two. This is what I mean by my term trash

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AMAZING STORIES

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NAME

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in the 4th paragraph.

Leland Hickling
Davenport, N. Y.
The Lemuria story appears next issue! Mr.
Shaver, the author, says it is true, insofar as he
claims he "remembers" it. We are personally con-
vinced he is sincere. You can draw your own
conclusions when you read it. He tells us it is
true, and we teU you it is true that he says it is
true. It is entirely a personal matter with your
editor when he considers the manuscript and him-
self believes it — but after all, we are as much a
fan as you are, and we agree, true or not, it's
a hell of a good story!— Ed.

LETTER STORYETTE

Sirs:

"Cripes," gasped Beogh, moving with a swift-
ness belying his enormous bulk, "it's Elmer Filch?"

"Beogh," Filch said in his bass voice, "I have
to find out — !"

Abruptly Filch flung himself flat on the floor
as the Venusian glow-lamps extinguished them-
selves at Beogh's mental command. A knife whis-
tled over Filch's head in the darkness and im-
bedded itself in the steel door with a metallic
clang. A needle-gun sizzled twice.

Filch immediately withdrew the dangerous, com-
pact little weapon from his pocket with a lithe,
catlike motion ; he triggered it swiftly ! A shrill
scream rang hollowly in the confines of the room
as a Venusian fell, blood welling from his breast.
Filch fired again and a dull thud echoed out as the
second Venusian slumped to the floor.

When the lights flashed on again, Filch could
see that the jumbled room was empty, except for
the two dead Venusians, wallowing in a pool of
blood, and a very beautiful girl with red hair,
green eyes and a dangerous-looking rod in one
tan little paw. Filch removed her weapon with a
disarming smile and said calmly, "I have to
know — "

Unexpectedly, the lights winked off. Filch heard
the hiss of a needle-gun and felt a sharp pain in
his left arm as the needle struck. Blackness
swept over him and he flopped flat on his kisser.
Chapter XXXIV

Elmer Filch awoke dazedly on the hot Venusian
desert. Spitting out a mouthful of sand, he looked
about Mm. He realized vaguely that he was in
the "Land of Tranquility," Venusian equivalent of
Devil's Island.

As Filch stood up, three Venusian convicts crept
toward him with knives glittering in their hands.
Filch angrily tore the Venusians to tiny fragments
with his bare hands and stalked off toward a near-
by house. He walked in without knocking and
discovered a red-bearded giant working a cross-
word puzzle on the kitchen table and swilling
Xeno, The giant looked up.

"My name is Red," murmured the red-bearded
giant. "Watcha want?"

"Well," Filch said calmly," I've got to learn — "

To Filch's intense horror a glittering, snub-
nose gat poked its snoot through the kitchen
window. A searing lance of flame leaped forth

AMAZING STORIES

199

from it and Red's head vanished in a burst of
blue smoke.

Filch fired his own weapon and was rewarded
with a scream of sheer agony. Three Venusians
fell dead.

Later, after he had stocked up with provisions,
Elmer set out across the steaming desert toward
the place where lay the wrecked space-ship that
had been his home before he had escaped from
the open-air prison so many years ago.

Drawn and exhausted by his arduous trek, Filch
finally arrived at the wrecked space-ship. Filch
was horrified to see that the wreck was a wreck,
glinting dully in the faint sunlight.

Abruptly an emaciated old man with rheumy
eyes tottered out of a near-by cave and cackled
shrilly.

"By Gad— it's Chester Twilch!" Elmer exclaim-
ed passionately.

"Why, you're Elmer Filch !" the old man cried
feebly in dawning recognition. "What do you
want ?"

"I have come all the way across this burning
desert to ask you one question upon which rests
the fate of two worlds . , ."

"Yes?" cried the old man. "What is it?"

Filch leaned over and whispered in Twilch's
ear dramatically: "Does your taster react 'dif-
ferent' lately???"

In answer the old roan immediately produced
a cigarette from his tattered tunic and gobbled it
up. Slowly his wrinkled face turned green and
his rheumy eyes filmed over. His tongue dan-
gling limply from the corner of his mouth, he
collapsed on the ground with a hoarse, gurgling
blood-curdling scream. . . .

{To be continued the middle of last month.
Be sure to miss the concluding chapters of this
puke-pounding serial.)

Gerald Waible
1219 N. E. Roselawn,
Portland, Ore.
P.S. I wholeheartedly concur with your premise
that the size of the shoes he fills varies inversely
to the size hat an author wears. Although I am
devastatingly handsome, undoubtedly the greatest
humorist in America, and the possessor of a
dazzling intellect, I am not egotistical about it
in the slightest degree. . . .

We present this humorous letter from a reader
with a hearty chuckle. — Ed.

MAGS FOR SALE!

Sirs:

Perhaps the heading strikes a familiar chord,
perhaps it doesn't. Anyway we are a lost cause
as most of the boys are overseas now and, the
rest are too busy. I have a Medical Discharge
from the Royal Canadian Air Force and am back
in the States for good.

I have Amazino Stories dating back to 1926;
Monthlies, Quarterlies and annuals. Also other
Science Fiction Magazines dating back to 1910. A
complete collection of Edgar Rice Burroughs'
works, first editions, reprints, magazine copies and
foreign editions. Also other popular books by

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AMAZING STORIES

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other outstanding science fiction authors.

As the Texas Fantasy Fictioneers Is a past
organization now, and as I am unable to keep ail
the collection I am offering them for sale to those
fans who have not had a chance to read the older
stories. Merrill's "Moon Pool," Coblentz's "After
12,000 Years," Baron Munchausen's Scientific Ad-
ventures" by Hugo Gemsback, and H. G. Well's
shorts are a few of the complete stories. I have
very few broken isues in my collection.

Just a word of praise along the line here— "The
Eagle Man" by Wilcox is one of the best stories
I've seen in Amazing for years. How about a
sequel to it? It certainly calls for one and I am
surprised that one has not appeared yet.

One other thing and I close — hang on to St.
John. For years I have watched his changing
illustrations in the Burroughs books and like his
style. His illustration in any story is enough to
sell the story to me, for I've never seen him il-
lustrate a poor story.

J. Frank Autry
602 North 23rd St.
Corsicana, Texas
Okay, readers, came and get 'em! — Ed.
A FIRST FOB "I, ROCKET"

Sirs:

This letter has been gradually composing itself
in my mind ever since I first started reading
Amazing. This issue was the final touch, so
here comes nothing.

The reason for my giving "I, Rocket" first
place in my estimation is no reflection on the
ability of author Reed and his truly excellent
novel, which I greatly enjoyed. However it
seems to me that Bradbury's tale is in an entirely
different category. It is an unusual story in an
environment where the extraordinary has become
commonplace. More, please.

The first Amazing I read (about two years ago)
was a quarterly which I obtained via a second-
hand book store. Since that time I have read
nearly all the SF mags in the place, and have ar-
rived at this conclusion: Amazing Stories has no
serious competition as far as either quality or
quantity is concerned. At first I paid little at-
tention to the letters from the readers, and sucb
departments. Then as the supply began to dwin-
dle, I would read the whole issue through, also
paying more attention to the covers. I have
received the impression that most of your fans
are between the ages of thirteen and sixteen. I
hope ibis is not so, but shall continue reading
nevertheless.

The cover on this issue is really the best I have
seen yet, though it could be improved on. Why
not sometime use a picture showing a rather dis-
tant ship with the earth below and the distant
stars shining above?

As for suggesting improvements in the stories,
I can sympathize with the authors, as I have
myself tried beginning an SF tale already. If
I should ever get anything written which satis-
fies my (at present) high standards, I shall sub-

AMAZING STORIES

201

7BOOKS0N

mit it for your criticism. Until then, I shall not
speak too harshly of the work of others.

Warren Rayle
220 College Street
Findlay, Ohio
"UNCROSSED" WIRES!

Sirs:

This letter, although ordinary in appearance, is
really unique, as it is the first one I have ever
written to any publication. Previously, I had
viewed with antipathy that section of any maga-
zine known as "Letters To The Editor," as most
of the letters contained the usual "I liked this—"
or "I didn't like that—" drivel. However, I
realize now that this section is an excellent me-
dium for expressing the reader's viewpoint, and
brother, express myself I shall !

Being an Army projectionist, I was especially
interested in Leroy Yerxa's "Crossed Wires" which
appeared in a recent issue of Amazing Stories,
but as there were certain things in the story that
didn't "hold water", this letter is therefore ten-
dered as rebuttal.

The basis of the story is Marsh's ability to
"read" literally the sound track on a motion
picture, but since this is a science-fiction story
such an assumption is allowed and I'D pass over
that. However, if you've ever seen the sound
track running in a projector, past a given spot
at the rate of 90 feet per minute — ! ! I — and as
for "reading" it while the film is motionless would
be even more of a task as a single word con-
verted to it's visual equivalent on the film, can
extend as much as one foot along the length of
the sound track.

However the big flaw is Marsh's statement
"I've been in this game for a long time" (He
couldn't have been in it much over 14 years). We
can infer from that statement that his ability to
read the sound track was due to his years of
experience in learning to interpret the "black,
wavy line of the movie sound track". Now from
the serial references to the "wavering sound track"
and "wavering black line" it is evident that Mr.
Yerxa is referring to that type of sound record-
ing known as "variable area" recording, in which
the sound is represented as a single, continuous
line of varying frequency and amplitude (said
iine incidentally, is WHITE not black!). There-
fore, our hero, Marsh, did not get very much
practice in reading this type of recording, because
soon after sound-on-film came into universal use,
at least 25 different types of recording were ad-
vanced and put into general use, each differing
from the other, and the "variable area" type was
more or less superseded by the superior "variable
density" type of recording, in which the sound is
represented on the film, as thin horizontal lines
of varying density, which are all of the same
width and extend the entire width of the sound
track.

Since both of these types of recordings are
merely photo-electrical, MAN-MADE manifesta-
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waves impinging on microphones, why should
Yerxa assume that the actual sound waves look
like the early variable area type? — especially since
variable density has been in use more than vari-
able area? Since Marsh would be "seeing" ac-
tual sound waves, they wouldn't appear as vertical
lines, which traveled up (or down) and which
could be viewed from a distance (as those on
the movie film) but would be traveling HORI-
ZONTALLY TOWARD Marsh, and would there-
fore present an entirely different picture as those
Marsh had been accustomed to seeing, with the
result that they would be meaningless to him.

Another flaw was the statement "Marsh waited
for the series of light dashes that the human
eye produced — " Only sounds were supposed
to produce light. The eye, being a visible fac-
tor, should have produced sounds.

Another statement which was correct— "There
was no actual light in the morgue, therefore no
sound to register in his ears" was contradicted
a few sentences later by — "The other could see
nothing in the dark; yet Marsh could hear the
high-pitched tone of teeth, white teeth."

Marsh, while in the dark morgue, shouldn't
have been able to "see" the sounds the other
man made, for the same reason he couldn't "hear",
and that reason being that light waves do not
exist in the dark. Yerxa knew this when he
wrote — "therefore no sound to register in his
ears" (lack of light), but evidently he wasa't
aware of the converse: i.e. — if light couldn't be
converted to sound because of the darkness, then
neither could sound be converted to light.

Well, despite this long-winded discourse, I still
think it was an excellent story with a very in-
genious idea, and Yerxa is to be congratulated
for his efforts. If some of your other writers
could be shaken out of their lethargy, long enough
to write one "different" story for the sake of
literature, rather than five run-of-the-mill items
for money, your magazine would really be some-
thing. I've noticed lately that the quality of your
stories has depreciated quite a bit. Could it be
that Selective Service has something to do with
it?

Joseph G. Serene's letter to the editor gave me
a big laugh. Doesn't he realize that although
such statements as "He offered her a cigarette"
may not be incidental to the story, at least such
statements are adding to the wordage of the story,
thereby increasing the amount of revenue to the
author. Surely, Joseph, one of your moral view-
point, should be a champion to the "brotherhood
of man" and not insist that such statements be
deleted, depriving the author of the few extra
cents to feed his starving children! Although
Serene's letter need not be honored by further
comment, I wish to point out that the medical
profession recognizes the therapeutic value that
tobacco offers, in retarding most forms of ten-
sion, anxiety and nonfunctional nervousness.
Joseph, would you call a soldier sitting in a fox-
hole, lighting one cigarette after another to ap-

AMAZING STORIES

203

pease tortured nerves, as he sweats out an ar-
tillery barrage, a cigarette fiend?

Well, Ed, I think I have taken up enough of
your time, and in closing thought you might
like to know that I read your "Amazing" and
"Fantastic" magazines whenever I get the chance,
and am quite satisfied if I find just one good
story in each issue.

Pvt. John R, Gregory
Military Secret
U. S. A.

Many thanks for this detailed corrective letter
on the facts in the story. We are not too high-
hat to take it when we deserve it—and we de-
serve U!—Kd.

FROM NEW ZEALAND I

Sirs :

While "It's a Small World" in the March issue
of Amazinc is not an uninteresting story, Mr.
Bloch has made the same mistake that Ray
Cummings has always made in his "Atom"
stories— he has not taken into account the very
obvious fact that, even though they were reduced
in size, Clyde and Glen would lose none of their
original weight; moreover, their strength and
eating capacities would remain the same also.
Thus Roger could not have lifted one of them,
much less two, they would have broken the
hranches of the tree immediately with their
weight, and they could have dealt very effec-
tively with Roger, the cat, and even Simon,
having their original strength, and, through their
ability to concentrate it and their weight on one
spot, being tremendously powerful; there are
numerous other similar points that Mr. Bloch has
evidently seen fit to ignore; I cannot imagine
that he did not realize that be was including such
glaring mistakes in his story. The only "reduc-
tion" stories that I can recollect in which these
points were taken into consideration were "A
World Unseen," "A Matter of Size," and "The
Midget from the Island," which stories I expect
only older fans will remember.

Virgil Finlay's artwork in this issue is utterly
magnificent; I hope that you have plenty more
on hand, for no other artist can compare with
him, in my opinion.

Thomas G. L. Cockcroft

7 Roslyn Road,

Napier,

New Zealand.
Maybe, maybe — Bui can you prove it? Does
a reduced molecule still weigh the same? Maybe
an entirely different ratio of physical values ex-
ists in the molecular "worlds." — Eo.

MATURE— OCCASIONALLY !
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out superbly most of the time, producing great
gobs of superficial bang-bang fiction. But when
it clicks, it does so in a wsnderfully smooth,
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STUPENDOUS!

Sirs:

Well, well, what do ya know I I finally found
a story so good I just had to compliment it.
Pertaining to the November issue, and "Empire
of Jegga". It was stupendous. The best since
"The Test Tube Girl."

The January issue was swell, too. Good cover.
"Intruders from the Stars" rates first, "The Mad
Robot" second, and "Phantom City of Luna"
third. Keep up this good work and I will always
be a devoted and faithful reader of your mag.

Arirl F. Bail
Coeur d'Alene, Idaho
We thought so too!— Eo.

COMPREHENSIVE COMMENT

Sirs:

I have been reading your magazine since late
1933, and have just finished the March, 1944, is-
sue. I have never before written, or had even
the inclination to write to any great extent. I
have reached the point that I think it's time to
do some writing, or screaming, or something, and
I would appreciate seeing this, or part of this,
(particularly the next to last paragraph) in print.

I'll start in with some of the usual comments.
I am, of course, ardently in favor of trimmed
edges, but I've given up hope long ago of ever
having them. I think, your mag on the whole has
not improved a great deal. I have, stored away,
all the past copies. Every once in a while I dig
them out and read them. It seems to me that,
although the material may be a little old-fash-
ioned in some, the plots are as good and more
masterfully handled. Some of your changes I like
— the series that have been on your back cover,
and the clearing away of story names from the
front cover as much as possible, and lately the
publication of a longer Discussions column. Your
articles on the whole have been good, and your
artists also, with Paul and McCauley predominat-
ing. (Though Paul is at his best only on cover
work.) Some other bests are Finlay and St. John.
Not of the top rank, but good, are Fuqua, par-
ticularly with his machines, Hadden, and Mal-
colm Smith. The only illustrator of yours I dis-
like is Magarian. (Open to argument here.)

Now to the authors. There is no point in men-
tioning those I like, because most of your authors
type out fair to very good stories. I have, how-
ever, a violent antipathy to Don Wilcox. His
stories are childish conglomerations of discon-
nected words. His plots have been used hundreds

AMAZING STORIES

of times, and there is nothing novel in his presen-
tation. I suppose that he did, at one time, write
good stories, but after so much nothingness I
don't remember any of them. You have no writ-
ers, so far as I'm concerned, that are capable of
turning out really excellent stories. It seems to
me that during the last seven years you have con-
siderably lowered your estimate of the average
intelligence of your readers, because certainly none
of these highly praised modern writers come to
that level of excellence set by the former masters.
I think that E. E. Smith was probably the great-
est. Weinbaum was good, excellent in fact. Wil-
liamson was one of the greatest. Campbell and
van Vogt, Heinlein and Stuart — these were the
greats. Only once in a great while does even a
writer such as Eando Binder grace your pages
now. It seems that the present writers have
stopped even trying to reach the set goal.

Now for the business at hand. It seems that
the story "Carbon Copy Killer" has come in for
a lot of attention. Let me say that it was not as
good as other stories in the issue. Of course it
surpassed "The Great Brain Panic"— see above for
comment on Wilcox. I liked "The Man Who Lost
Face" best although it was not s.f. and should
actually have been in your companion magazine.

Now for the January issue. According to you,
"Intruders from the Stars" was raved about by
everybody except Mr. Philip K. Dick. More
power to him. The story actually made so little
impression on me that I didn't remember it in
the slightest only some month and a half later,
and had to back and re-read it in part. In fact,
I rate it fourth in the issue, bettered by ''Phan-
tom City of Luna," "Island of Eternal Storm,"
and "The Mad Robot," in that order. In the
present (March) issue you presented one really
good story— the best I've found in some time.
That is "Crossed Wires" by Yerxa. "It's a Small
World" was also excellent. In fact I think that
this issue is one of, if not the, best in the past two
years, with all stories very readable except — ugh
— Wilcox's "Magnetic Miss Meteor." It has
reached the point that I look at the contents page,
and if Wilcox's name is there, well, so much of
this issue wasted.

Next to Discussions. Pvt. Robert ST Sorenson
lays into Mr. Lanefield a little heavily, I think,
since Lanefield voiced no personal objection to the
bare torso. If he has such an aversion, what will
he think of this month's cover? (Which, by the
way, is splendid!) Now let me express a few
thoughts. Of all the pewling, pusilanimous, banal,
puerile, and to quote Pvt. Sorenson, "utterly sick-
ening, completely juvenile expression of opinion"
the letter by Mr. Jos. G. Serene is the worst I
have ever read. He says, quote, "just cut out —
tobacco, booze, and swearing and you will have
100% stories." 100% for whom? The first
grade Sunday School? Over 75% of the people
of the United States smoke. Over 60% of them
drink, in moderation or otherwise. Only minis-
ters don't swear, and on occasion I've heard even

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them do it. If Mr. Serene (Mr. Jos G. Serene,
mind you) dislikes these things so much, why
doesn't he go some place away from this country
where those things are not done? (If there is
any such place, which I doubt, and if there isn't,
why then I guess that Mr. Serene must get used
to these things.) If the story is going to portray
humanity, and particularly Americans, as they
really exist, how can it keep from having them
do all of the three? Three quarters of the char-
acters, as statistics show, ought to smoke, and if
in the story there is time, then I see that one of
them out of every two would accept a highball!
Without them the characters, in some situations at
least, would appear stilted and unreal. For ex-
ample, if the ship of an old space-dog was about
to be boarded by space pirates, do you suppose
that he would* say, in a mild voice, "Oh, for gra-
cious sakes!" Mr. Serene might think so, but an
overwhelming majority of your readers don't
thing so. There should be no objection to the
portrayal of characters as they should be to fit the
position in which they are placed. Does he sup-
pose that all people are as he? The likable ruf-
fians, or maybe I shouldn't call them that, that
seem to be the heroes of a great many stories of
the present day, witness in the present issue Hank
in Journey in Time to Cleopatra and Cokie in
Cokie Goes Treasure Hunting. Don't misunder-
stand me, I enjoy these stories immensely — and
not from any desire to see the human race pic-
tured as going to the dogs; but Mr. Serene, after
reading them, probably threw up his hands in
righteous (?) horror, and started foaming at the
mouth ! The hypocritical idiocy of the idea !
However, each man has his own opinion. As did
Pvt. Sorensen, I apologize if Mr. Serene is under
nine — at any age above that there can be no
excuse for those ideas !

To sum this over-long thing up, I think that
there is room for improvement in A. S., but that
on the whole it is still an interesting, entertaining
magazine well worth more than the 25c it cost
Keep up the effort, and I wish you all the luck
in the world.

G. S. Eruton, II
1 Louisiana Circle
Sewanee, Tennessee
When a letter covers the situation as well as
this, why should we stick our oar in? — Ed.

ABOUT SPACE TRAVEL

Sirs:

Sometimes I wonder if you editors can even
read. Judging from the stories in your mag, you
read a little over half of them an then throw in
the rest and hope they'll be O. K. Some of your
stories I read in your mags make me wish I'd
never set eyes on them, but the majority of them
make up for the one or two stinkers in each issue,
so I'm still a fan of yours.

Another thing makes me wonder about your
literacy. The last time I wrote, I used the letter-
head of my place of business and your printed a

AMAZING STORIES

207

combination of that and my signature for my
name. Do you always leave your writer's names
"anonymous" or was it another typographical
error?

Arthur Z. Brown in the May issye has a few
good ideas about space travel, but slightly errone-
ous I believe. Fr. inst., "the distance traveled
through air would be negligible, say 500 miles at
each end against the millions of miles traveled
through space utterly devoid of air. Thus a ship
that was square, round, hexagonal, or any other
shape would do equally as well."

I wonder if young Mr. Brown has ever seen a
meteor hit the earth's atmosphere. It becomes
white hot and incandescent almost immediately
and the huge percentage of meteors are completely
burned up before reaching the ground. Thus,
though the distance traveled by a space ship in
air would be negligible, as Mr. Brown says, I
think it matters quite a lot that air resistance be
reduced as much as possible.

Also the matter of radiant energy exerting pres-
sure. Sure, it's a well-known fact. In fact, it
once was proposed that a space ship would travel
with huge collapsible wings to catch the sun's
radiation and use the pressure for its motive
power. At that, though, I don't think radiant
energy would exert enough pressure to stop or
even hinder greatly a ship with sufficient speed.

An energy beam also is a good idea, although
rather vague. What kind of energy was meant;
heat, light, electric, atomic (?) or what have you?
And at the tremendous distances involved, the
beam would tend to fan out and dissipate its
energy unless a receiver of some sort were built
in the ship to attract or "focus" it.

The problems so far appearing seem very diffi-
cult not to mention innumerable others, such as
the effect gravitation from other bodies would
have on a moving object in space.

Yes, indeed, space navigation is every much
more complex than simple navigation such as we
are used to, but I have no doubt that in the fu-
ture, years distant, of course but not too far, space
travel will appear and become fairly common.

Scott Crom
201 2nd Street
Red Oak, Iowa

Any other readers have anything to say on this
subject? — Ed.

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SUPER TRAIN of TOMORROW

By HENRY GADE

This month's back cover depicts artist James B. Settles"
conception of the train of tomorrow, which will become a
life-saver to the railroads, facing competition in the air.

MODERN war has made it necessary to
build aircraft of huge proportions cap-
able of carrying freight in great quan-
tities. So successful has this been accomplished
that post-war prospects for aerial cargo carriers,
to say nothing of passenger earners, is very great.
It has been variously estimated that huge air
transports will be able to carry twice the capacity
of America's railroads at many times the speed.

Naturally, this prospect has been one which the
railroads have not failed to recognize. It has
been viewed with realization of its certainty, and
the logical conclusion has been reached— that in
order to stay in business, the railroad will have
to carry as much as far and as fast as the air-
lines can do it. To accomplish this end, the in-
genuity of science must come into play.

Many new designs have been offered, many new
mechanical devices. All have been on revolution-
ary trends, pointing toward great size and tre-
mendous speed.

On our back cover this month we present the
type of train artist James B. Settles conceives as
a possibility to offer competition to the airlines.

First, he has pictured the train as being
mounted on a single rail of huge dimensions and
strength. Such a foundation would be necessary
to maintain the great weight of the super train,
and also to provide a firm roadbed that would
be sufficient to provide the margin of safety re-
quired.

This train, riding a single rail, obviously re-
quires a balance power, in this case the obvious
one of a gyro wheel. The same principle would
be called into play that is used to steady giant
ocean liners. The cars of this train would con-
tain gyroscope wheels which would be capable of
holding it erect against almost any force.

Each car would be articulated, so that to all in-
tents and purposes the whole train would be one
single unit.

Motive power would be furnished both by great
diesel motors, and by auxiliary rocket compressors
mounted on the sides and geared to great pistons
operating almost exactly like the steam train's pis-
tons. These rockets would come into play at the
higher speeds, after the gear mechanism of the
diesels cuts out. Thus high speeds could be
achieved which would be impracticable by any
gear arrangement. Wearing parts would thus be
reduced to a minimum, and breakdowns from this
source would be virtually eliminated.

Track construction and right of way would be
on a one-way basis, without switches except in
key switching points. There would be no such
thing as a siding, and no such thing as a "fast"
train or a "slow" freight. All shipments would
proceed on a definitely timed basis estimated to
the split second on a safety margin for the ter-
rain, whether plain or mountain. Thus, there
would be a single speed (and time-table) for all
trains going to fixed destinations. If it is possible
to travel from Chicago to San Diego in thirteen
hours, then that would be the speed both for
freight and for passenger. There would be no
necessity for the freight to be sidetracked to allow
the passenger flyer to go through, or as in the
case of war-time, the other way around.

Gyro wheels and motors and storage space
would be around the "hub" of a central axis run-
ning through the length of the car. Around this
area would be the passenger quarters, arranged
on the outside of the circumference of the car,
which itself would be cylindrical in shape.

These quarters' would be arranged into three
separate "decks" connected by escalators. The top
deck would be diner and observation deck, the
central deck pullman, and the third or lower deck
coach service.

All of these decks would be absolutely sound-
proofed, and there would be no noise to indicate
that the train is moving. Each deck would be
suspended from an overhead axle so that all
turns would be made without disturbing the cen-
ter of equilibrium. This would eliminate any
tendency to fall when the train was rounding a
curve. The train itself would remain erect by
reason of its gyro controls, making "banked"
roadbeds therefore impossible since the cars would
not bank to conform to such variations in the
roadbed. However, since elimination of grades
would be impossible, the gyro wheels would be
free to tilt forward or backward to a sufficient
degree to compensate for the maximum grade on
the system.

The engineer's cabin would be similar to the
bridge of a ship, and would be located at the top
and forepart of the lead car. His controls would
be radio guided and would require little in the
way of personal manipulation. His function
would be mainly to keep constant check on all
readings and to guard against equipment failure
' and to bring into play emergency devices in case
of such failure. Such is tomorrow's super train.

208

AMAZING STORIES

209

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